


The Art of Crushing on Ian Gallagher

by chloemaay



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chef Mickey, F/F, Future Fic, Ian x Mickey - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, ian x mickey au, non Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:00:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 49,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5308505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chloemaay/pseuds/chloemaay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey Milkovich does not do relationships. Nor does he do dating or crushes. But when a tall redhead moves in across the hall, he suddenly finds himself wanting all of it. When his creepy boss Ned gets to the redhead first...well, heads are bound to roll.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step One: Crushes Are For Teenage Girls

The day Mickey Milkovich met Ian Gallagher was an exceptional day indeed, although it started just like any other. The sun rose, as it had done every other day that summer, and began to warm the pavements of Chicago. A fine sheen of sweat didn't take long to form on the skin of those out in the heat and Mickey was no exception. Hell, hadn't even left the house let alone gotten out of bed before the high temperature started to get to him. It was still only early morning but he dragged himself out of bed anyway; a cold shower would make a small dent in the frustrations that came with the heat. Having to work for a living put a stop to any lazy days at home, unfortunately. At this early hour, the small apartment building he lived in on the south side of Chicago was quiet. He had two neighbours upstairs – an elderly lady and a man who Mickey was sure never actually slept judging by all the fucking noise that came through the floor. There was an empty unit across the hall from him which meant, until someone moved in, Mickey didn't have to worry about noisy or annoying neighbours. It also meant that when Yevgeny came to visit, they didn't have to keep their play fighting matches quiet. He had contemplated moving out and finding somewhere better where he had his own place but who was he fucking kidding? This was the south side. His apartment building was like gold in these parts, and he wasn't about to give up the reasonable sized unit for somewhere shittier. He could deal.

Not even five minutes after his shower and he was already sweating; a quick sniff told him he smelled okay, though, and he dressed in usual outfit – plain black pants and a white t-shirt. Working in a kitchen was not an ideal job in the summertime but the joint where he worked, The Crafty Dog, had just installed air conditioning in the kitchen and he was forever thankful. It actually made going to work bearable. He couldn't remember how long he'd wanted to work with food for; experimental recipes in the kitchen had always been fun for him, and when he finally left his dad's house – kicked out, maybe? - he'd learnt pretty quickly how to make food that tasted good. When The Dog had been looking for a kitchen hand, he'd jumped at the chance. The pay wasn't too bad and it was two blocks from his house; he couldn't complain, really.

A shout drifted in through his open bedroom window and he glanced out. His elderly neighbour from upstairs, Dot, was feeding the birds and doing her best to scare off the black cat that was hanging in the bushes along the edge of the fence. Mickey smirked to himself; the garden was shared by all the tenants and when he wasn't at work, he was usually in the back with a beer and not much else on his mind. Dot would always join him and chat his hear off about his tattoos, and didn't they stop him from getting jobs? He didn't mind it, really. She could talk forever and Mickey could tune her out. It was a win-win situation.

There was a thump in the hallway but Mickey ignored it; no doubt it was Mr Noise from upstairs making his way out for the day. Mickey fished his shoes out from the bottom of his closet, sprayed on some deodorant and went into the small kitchen for a quick breakfast. He wasn't a big breakfast eater, never had been. Come to think of it, he'd never been a morning person, either. Fucking domestic life wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

After a rushed bowl of cereal – fruit loops; the child in him was alive and well – Mickey grabbed his keys and opened the front door to step out into the hallway.

“Watch it!” A voice called immediately and Mickey came face to face with a dark blue piece of furniture, a second later registering that it was a couch. A pair of legs were at each end and Mickey watched as the two men manoeuvred the couch into the unit across from his own. There goes his silent bottom floor. 

“Sorry – didn't mean to get in your way!” Another voice said breathlessly, the face hidden behind one end of the couch. The first voice came into view and the man lifted his head in a quick greeting to Mickey.

“Moving day?” Mickey gestured to the couch and the man who had spoken first raised his eyebrows.

“No shit.”

Well fuck. Mickey fought the urge to deck the guy – he wasn't that person any more – and shrugged his shoulders. He didn't need to be neighbourly. As he pushed past, he heard the second voice berate the guy from inside the unit. “Lip, can you at least try to be civil to my new neighbours?!”

Something in his brain stirred at the name but he shook it off; this was the south side. He probably knew this guy somehow. Mickey stepped out into the sunlight, realising he'd left his sunglasses behind but fuck them – he didn't really feel like going back to get them, and it was only a short walk. He set off, doing his best to keep his pace steady; if he walked too fast, he'd be drenched in sweat by the time he got to work. Not a good look. The walk to work was easy, though. He knew this neighbourhood well, as much as he hated it. He'd heard of people getting out of the south side but that wasn't on the cards for him. Not yet, anyway. He'd gotten out of his dad's house, though – that had been a mission in itself.

When he finally came to The Crafty Dog, it's bright yellow fence almost luminous in the sunlight, he breathed a sigh. No one liked working – well, almost no one – and Mickey was definitely someone who would do shit all with his days if he ever won a big sum of money, but this bustling little café had become a home away from home for him. He'd been here two years, and he'd only grown more and more attached to it. One of their regulars was sitting outside at one of the tables, an empty bowl in front of her as she typed away on her laptop. She glanced up and smiled at Mickey as he swept by, taking her empty dishes with him as he did. He smiled in greeting to the woman behind the counter. June was nearing 70 but still worked harder than any of the rest of them did; she put them all to shame. Mickey dropped the dirty dish off to the dishwasher and stepped into the locker room, dumping his phone and keys into his locker and pulling out his apron. 

It was a Wednesday, and that meant cheap pizzas from 5pm. He had all day to prep and it was this part of his job that he loved; the methodical way he would wash and cut each ingredient – always leaving the onions till last because fuck, they stung like a bitch – and once that was done, he got to make the dough. His favourite part was kneading it and the head chef, Mae, was always banging on that he overworked the dough. She was a great person to work with in the kitchen, but she couldn't handle it if you did something wrong, often taking it personally. When Mickey had made enough dough and set it aside to rise, he got to work cleaning the benches. Mae was behind him working on the breakfast orders – she was an exceptional chef who usually took a break after lunch before coming back for the dinner shift. Mickey would often watch her work to learn all he could. Just as he had finished tidying up after himself and was about to ask Mae what she needed him to do next, in walked the worst part of Mickey's job.

Lloyd “Ned” Lishman made Mickey's time at work hell. Well, if Mickey was honest, he wasn't that bad, but that was probably only because Mickey tended to give off a 'fuck off' vibe whenever Ned was around him. Plus, Ned liked pretty things, and Mickey was anything but pretty. When Mickey had started working at The Dog, Ned had only just taken over ownership and hired Mickey due to his “need to surround myself with pretty things, Mickey.” Mickey had wanted to knock the guy out right there and then, but had instead puffed his chest out, cracked his tattooed knuckles once or twice and accepted the job. Hey, a man's gotta work. It didn't take long for Ned to leave him alone – instead, he watched through the one way mirror in his office for anything that caught his eye and would swoop out to serve any customers that met his 'requirements'. Mickey was sure there was some kind of law against how he treated his staff, but the majority of them were women and genuinely appreciated the friendly management style. Besides, it was usually only the men who he was over-the-top friendly with. It was only Mickey who seemed to cop any disadvantages with Ned's overly-affectionate personality; he hated the guy and therefore any time he spoke to him, he was constantly on the cusp of decking the guy.

“Mickey! Pizzas all prepped?” Ned called out as the walked around behind Mickey and clapped him on the back. Mickey blinked once or twice, taking a breath and nodded in response. “Great. Just great. Mae, all okay?”

“Of course!” Mae was always in a good mood. Unless you fucked up her food.

“Excellent.” How could someone sound so seedy with everything he said? Mickey put his head down and continued to clean the same spot on the bench in front of him. “Careful there, Milkovich. You don't want to use all your energy on that one spot.”

Ned sauntered out, asking Mae to follow him and Mickey fought the urge to flip him off as he left the kitchen. He didn't feel like losing his job today, or giving Ned more of a reason to give him extra attention. His saving grace, quite literally, walked into the kitchen next. Grace was a good ten years older than Mickey but they'd somehow become unlikely friends ever since Mickey had started working at The Dog. They both hated Ned – although Mickey probably had slightly stronger feelings towards him – and Mickey enjoyed their friendship. When he'd finally got out of his dad's house and away from the shittier parts of his life, finding Grace and her 'who gives a fuck?' attitude had been perfect. Grace, on the other hand, loved that Mickey looked tough enough to scare off any fuckboys that were drawn to her dark olive skin and eyes that were almost the same blue as Mickey's own.

“What'd fuckface want?” Grace asked as she jumped up to sit on the bench, swinging her legs and grinning at Mickey. They made sure to only use the nickname when no one else could hear them. “He try and touch your ass?”

“As if I'd fuckin' let him.” Mickey retorted and swatted at Grace's leg. “You think Mae will be happy to see you sitting up there? Get your ass off. I just cleaned it.” Grace complied, jumping down and instead opening the fridge to help herself to the container of strawberries sitting inside it.

“We going out tonight?” Grace questioned, shoving a strawberry into her mouth and throwing the stem in the nearby bin. Mae walked back in and Grace smiled politely, hiding the food in her mouth perfectly. Mickey shook his head.

“It's a Wednesday, Grace. Come the fuck on.”

“Don't be a baby! Charlie Brown's is doing half price drinks all night!” She pleaded as the pair walked into the separate area of the kitchen set aside for the dishwasher and shelves of crockery. Mickey set to work stacking the dirty dishes on one of the trays and ignored Grace's pleas.

“Because it's a fucking Wednesday and no one goes drinking on a Wednesday.” He shot back and Grace sighed dramatically.

“Fine.” Really, Mickey had no idea what had drawn them together. It was an odd friendship and he often thought Grace would be better suited to his sister, Mandy. “Do you wanna get a box of beer and watch something shitty on Netflix?”

“That's more like a Wednesday night.” Mickey grinned and they both walked out to the front of the café. It had just hit nine which was usually their busiest time of the morning. Mickey wasn't a people person but Ned had insisted that he learn how to use the register for moments such as this. Mickey had asked to learn how to work the coffee machine, much preferring to make coffees as opposed to serving snooty mums and businessmen, but Ned had been firm in his decision. Just another thing to add to the list of reasons why Mickey hated him. Mickey plastered on his work smile and was pleased to see the first customer was his own flesh and blood.

“Hey, loser.” His sister was always so polite. The cheeky grin on her face and the tough demeanour made it hard to make fun of her for her order. “Can I get a hot chocolate?”

“You don't want a coffee like a normal adult?” Mickey teased, ringing her order through the till. Mandy was handing over the money before he had even asked for it.

“I'm not sure it's PC to use to word normal, Mick.” Mandy tutted, flipping him off casually before any other customers could see. She spotted Grace on the coffee machine and grinned. “Hey, Grace!”

“Mandy! Convince your brother to come to Charlie Brown's tonight!” Grace called over, her eyes never leaving the machine in front of her.

“Nah, we should just go without him.” Mandy replied. She took her change and moved off to the side to wait for her order, chatting with Grace as she went. Mickey ignored them.

“Welcome to The Crafty Dog. What can I get you?” Mickey's voice somehow managed to stay upbeat despite the greeting he sprouted off at least one hundred times a day. He looked up at his next customer and felt a low swoop in his belly. The slightly taller man standing at the counter was smiling warmly at Mickey and his green eyes almost danced as he looked from Mickey to the menu on the wall behind him – which only gave Mickey more time to stare. Mickey had never been into redheads, but fuck, this guy was something else. He knew how to pull it off, and his freckles only seemed to make him appear more attractive. Mickey shook his head internally; what the fuck was he doing?

Red was none the wiser. Or so Mickey thought. “Can I please have 4 large black coffees to go? Coffee run. And you should definitely go to Charlie Brown's – tell the bartender Ian sent you.” He'd clearly been listening to Mickey's conversation with Mandy. His smile was wide and out of the corner of Mickey's eye, he saw Mandy paying close attention. Ignoring the growing line of customers, Mickey chanced a small smile.

“Thanks, dude. Sixteen fifty, please.” This wasn't like him to get flustered over some guy. He took the money roughly and gestured for the customer to wait in the same area where his sister was. He could already see her getting ready to say something. Fucking hell.

“Might see you there.” Redhead said as he moved away and Mickey stared after him, mouth open slightly. Grace, on her way past to give Mandy her hot chocolate, kicked Mickey in the shins.

“You've got another customer, Mickey!” She chirped happily as she went past. Mickey groaned quietly to himself as he turned to the next customer; both Mandy and Grace were going to tease him about this. He addressed the next customer, fighting the urge to wrinkle his nose at her snooty face.

“Can I help you?” In the rush of customers, Mickey didn't see the tall redhead leave – and he was slightly glad for it. He wasn't sure what had caused his momentary lapse in judgement, but he was not someone to get hooked like that. He went for quick fucks – rarely at his place – and left the next morning without another word. Regardless of the fact that he was out, he wasn't into holding hands and all that relationship crap. He got what he wanted and that was it. Mickey wasn't going to dwell on the redhead from earlier, despite the teasing he was bound to get from the two females in his life.

Sure enough, when the lull before lunchtime arrived and Mickey had his first break, he was only out the back with his lunch for five minutes before Grace popped out with her own food and sat down next to him. He could see her itching to say something and he sat there, waiting.

“So, got a little bit flustered out there today, eh?” There it was. Mickey ignored her and took a bite of his sandwich. “Never thought you'd be into redheads.”

“I'm not into redheads.” He said through a mouthful of food and Grace pulled a face.

“Don't talk with your mouthful, Mickey Mouse.” She said sternly, shoving a mouthful of her salad into her mouth and continuing to talk. Mickey rolled his eyes at her nickname for him. “You sure looked like you were into redheads back there. Maybe you should re-think the trip to Charlie Brown's.”

“No, Grace.”

“Mickey, come on! When are you gonna stop with the one night fucks and find someone decent?” Grace had abandoned all attempts at mocking him and had now switched her voice to 'big sister' mode. “He looked like a nice guy!”

“You should know me better. I'm not about that.” Mickey protested lightly, but he couldn't deny that he'd thought about the redhead once or twice over the course of the morning, each time trying to ignore the reaction his lower half had. He'd never had such an intense reaction to someone's looks before; he never really cared much what the guys he hooked up with looked like, instead only bothering to make sure they had a well functioning dick. The redhead had sparked something in Mickey he wasn't sure he'd had previously. Lust. 

“You're such a fucking idiot.” Grace said sadly, shaking her head and Mickey snorted. “Will you come out tonight? Mandy is going to come, too.”

Mickey stood up, shoving the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and brushing the crumbs from his pants. He gave Grace one last look before opening the door. He heard her sigh, and called out over his shoulder, “I'll think about it.”

For the majority of his time at work, Mickey worked in the kitchen. The morning rush was usually the only exception and during the lunch rush, he would help Mae prepare the food and send it all out. He rarely worked an evening shift; they had another sous chef that would come in at five when Mickey left. There was the odd time he stayed on voluntarily to learn more and they were always grateful for the help. Tonight, though, was not going to be a busy night so Mickey couldn't even use work as an excuse to not go out with Grace and now Mandy, apparently. He had ignored Grace for the rest of his shift and when he left, she called out to talk to him but he walked out of the café without a look back. Fuck her.

The sun was lower in the sky now and it had cooled off slightly; Mickey did a mental check-list of what he had in his fridge at home and decided to make a quick stop at the store. One of his favourite things about living on his own was eating whatever the fuck he wanted, and for someone who worked in a kitchen, he sure did eat a lot of unhealthy shit. Tonight, though, he felt like being healthy for once. He browsed the fresh fruit and vegetables, picking out a few things for a salad before he took it to the checkout – making sure to pick up a six pack of beer on his way that. The woman at the checkout had dark red hair and his mind involuntarily leapt back to the other redhead he'd seen that day. This was going to have to stop.

Mickey left the store and started on the walk home. There was a buzz from his pocket and he juggled the bags so that he could answer his phone.

“Dad, mum says I can't watch The Hunger Games but Peeta from school said he watched it because it's a movie about him and I want to watch it!” Yevgeny's whiny voice never failed to make Mickey laugh, but right now he was smirking that someone actually named their kid after a character from a movie. Book. Whatever. “Can you tell her that I can?”

“No, I can't. You have to listen to mum. But I promise we'll watch it together when you get older.”

“Daaaad!” Yev whined again and Mickey was glad his son couldn't see him grinning. “I'm seven years old!”

“Exactly. I'll make you a deal, okay?” Mickey could hear the excitement in Yev's voice asked what the deal was. “If you can behave everyday till you're eighteen then on your eighteenth birthday, we'll watch it. Deal?”

There was a frustrated growl down the phone before the line went dead. Mickey laughed out loud; Yev was growing up to be as feisty as his mother. He and Svetlana had been an item for all of a few months after Terry found a pile of magazines under Mickey's bed that had absolutely zero naked female body parts and more than enough naked male body parts. It hadn't been an enjoyable time for Mickey, and the resulting pregnancy that came out of it had only sent Mickey into more of a panic about where his life was heading. Now, though, he was glad – in a weird, fucked up kind of way – that his dad had found the magazines and ordered Svetlana to fuck him. He had Yev, and Yev made him happy.

He wasn't a social person, really. Grace dragged him out once a week, sometimes even twice if she was lucky, and he rarely went out alone – unless he was looking for a fuck. It was a twisted way to live, but it suited him. Having a boyfriend, which felt weird even to think, would only complicate his relationship with Yevgeny, and Mickey didn't want anything to get in the way of that. He'd had his fair share of shitty parenting courtesy of his dad and there was no way he would inflict anything like that on his own son. He was a alright dad at the moment, although after that phone call maybe Yevgeny thought differently, and he didn't want anything to ruin it.

When he finally rounded the corner and saw his building at the end of the street, the first thing he spotted was the moving truck. Mickey rolled his eyes as he drew closer and recognised the same tool from earlier that morning was still there, carrying boxes inside. He spotted girl with red hair carrying a box and complaining to a tall woman with long dark brown hair – who the fuck was moving in and how many people would Mickey have to put up with across the hall? He entered the front gate just as the asshole who'd spoken to Mickey that morning came out, a smirk on his face.

“Well, if it isn't Captain Obvious!” He called, laughing at his own joke. Mickey rolled his eyes but the dude stopped in front of him, causing Mickey to stop, too. “I'm Lip. I'm helping my brother move in.”

Thank fuck for that. “Mickey.” He grunted in reply and made to move past but Lip held up a hand to stop him.

“Milkovich?” Mickey eyed him warily; his last name sometimes had this affect on people and he was always cautious as to the reasons behind it. He nodded carefully. “We went to the same school. I was with your sister for awhile. I heard you both left home awhile ago. How's she doing?”

Mandy dated this douche bag? Mickey looked him up and down and hitched a smirk to his face. “She's doing great.” He didn't like how much Lip knew about him.

Lip didn't miss the implication that Mandy was doing a lot better without him. “Your dad's in jail now, right?” Mickey was surprised at the question, still trying to place Lip's face when the redhead girl came out of the building with a scowl on her face.

“It's not fair!” She shouted back towards the house and Lip turned away from Mickey to stop the girl in her tracks. “Leave me alone, Lip!”

The girl stormed off down the road and out of sight; Mickey was watching the interaction with interest. If this was a family fight, it was much more tame than his family fights ever got. Lip turned back to Mickey with a stupid smile on his face. “Kids! Do you remember us at all? My brother?”

Mickey was not doing this now. He moved past Lip and walked towards the door to the building, ignoring the scoff he heard from behind him. He didn't care what Lip thought of him. As he entered the building and aimed for the door, fumbling in his pocket for his key, he heard movement from behind him.

“I hope my family aren't giving you a bad impression of me.”

Mickey turned, ready to do the classic Milkovich 'glare and walk away' move because yes, his family was annoying as shit and no doubt he was, too, but he was shocked into silence, staring instead at the owner of the voice.

And of course, it was fucking him, because that was usually how Mickey's luck went. The tall redhead with the eyes and the cute smile – fucking hell. Mickey somehow managed to jump start his brain into action again and he glanced behind the redhead into his new unit; he saw the woman with the long brown hair unpacking a box and figured she was the girlfriend. At least that would make getting over whatever the fuck this crush was a little easier.

“Not at all.” Mickey said tightly, already turning around to unlock his door. He sensed the guy hadn't moved but he opened his door anyway, ready to move inside.

“I'm Ian, by the way. Ian Gallagher. Just in case you didn't get my name earlier.” This guy was fucking pushy, wasn't he? Mickey turned back around, the bag in his hands slowly growing heavier. “My brother can be a real dick and my sister is a drama queen – family, huh.”

“Uh – yeah.” Mickey mumbled, not really sure where the conversation was heading and desperately wanting to get inside the house so he could slap himself because what the fuck was up with this blush creeping up on his cheeks?! He saw Ian's eyes roll over Mickey's knuckles and prepared himself for the scowl that usually followed. “Listen, I gotta go. Welcome to the building.”

He shut the door behind him before the conversation could continue, letting out a sigh. Mickey heard movement outside the door, murmurs between Ian and his girlfriend. The one time his brain decides to go all girly on him and the guy turns out to be straight. Of-fucking-course. He dumped the bag of shopping on his kitchen counter and fished inside for a beer, pulling one out and opening it immediately. A cold beer on a hot day was possibly one of the greatest pleasures in life, bar a few things. Mickey moved around the unit and opened windows to let the air flow through. A full day shut up meant it was stuffy as shit.

Gallagher. It clicked. Frank Gallagher, the drunk from the Alibi Room. Lip Gallagher, who Mickey had even paid once or twice to write an essay for him. Fat lot of use that did, in the end. He'd skipped out of school easily and only once he'd left home had he really thought about studying again, but this time he thought of possibly doing a cooking course. Ian. How did he know Ian? The name was stirring something in his memory and it felt as if it was just out of reach, floating away from him each time he tried to grab it. He knew Iggy was head over heels in love with their big sister, Fiona – well, he had been back then. Idiot never did shit about it, but they all knew she wouldn't have had him anyway. The Milkoviches had a certain reputation on the south side. There was another one of them, Mickey thought, before the name Carl popped into his head. Didn't he get into trouble for selling? Mickey couldn't quite remember. His mind drifted back to Ian. Ian Gallagher.

It fell into his lap all at once. Ian wasn't straight. He was gay. And how did Mickey know? Because Terry had come home drunk one night not too long before Mickey had come out and left home, bragging about some 'queer' he'd half beaten to death. He had gone on and on about it, proud of his achievement. When one of Mickey's brothers had questioned him about it, Terry had said something about it being Frank Gallagher’s son. It was fucking Ian Gallagher that Terry had almost killed, and now he was living across the hall.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super excited about this fic. I'm going to be updating every Saturday/Sunday unless anything gets in my way like life. Please comment/leave kudos if you liked it! I can't wait to update already. Thanks for reading!  
> Come hang on tumblr: [thegameismoriarty](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com)


	2. Step Two: Rats Are Not Recommended for Optimal Romantic Attachment

The rest of the week passed by in a blur of customers and ignoring Grace's attempts to get Mickey out of the house. She hadn't succeeded on Wednesday, Thursday, and now, waking up to a text from her on Friday morning, Mickey was wondering if he should just give in already. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy being out with his friend – and usually Mandy. It was more the effort of going out and getting to the point where he enjoyed himself. He silenced his alarm and went back to Grace's text.

_If you don't get your ass out tonight, I will personally cut your balls off and feed them to my cat._

Grace could be just a tad dramatic. He stayed lying in bed but pulled the sheet off of himself; it was fucking hot. He scrolled through Facebook for a bit – though, what was the point? He had all of twenty friends or so, and the majority of them posted pictures of food that he didn't find interesting. Grace was the only one he really cared about and she usually posted photos that were weirdly off colour. Mandy said she was a hipster, but Mickey wasn't even entirely sure what that meant. When he'd first met Grace and they'd become friends, she'd been shocked to find him living in the 18th century without any social media accounts. Despite all his protests that he didn't fucking need them, she'd created a Facebook account complete with a profile picture of his actual face. It was horrible. Come to think of it, the redhead across the hall seemed pretty...hip – Mickey cringed just thinking the word – and he probably had Facebook. Time for a little cyber stalking, maybe?

It didn't take long to find him. His profile picture was himself and the red-headed girl (probably a sister?) who'd stormed out on moving day. They were pulling silly faces at the camera, laughter in their eyes. Mickey clicked it for a closer look, reading the comments and looking at who'd liked the photo. He saw Lip's name, then Fiona, plus a few others he vaguely remembered from school. A quick click on Fiona's name told him what he'd suspected once he'd worked out who his new neighbour really was – Fiona wasn't the girlfriend, but the sister. He backed out of the photo and scrolled down his feed with a quiet laugh to himself; the idiot didn't have any privacy settings. Mickey made a mental note to ask Grace if he himself had privacy settings. Ian didn't post often. He'd shared the odd viral video but other than that, there wasn't a whole lot to see. His most recent status only said, 'Moving day!'. There were two comments, and Mickey tapped to see what they were.

 _Shame about the neighbours._ Lip. The asshole.

 _When is the house warming party? I'll bring the beer!!_ Someone called Kevin Ball. If Mickey remembered rightly, he owned the Alibi Room.

Fucking Lip. Mickey already didn't like him. He cleared the screen and tossed his phone across the bed. Lazily, he put one hand down his boxers and felt a reaction, his mind still on Ian's face. They hadn't seen each other at all since Ian had moved in, but that was mostly due to the fact that Mickey was actively avoiding bumping into his new neighbour – though that didn't mean Mickey couldn't think about him. What Ian didn't know wouldn't hurt him. He didn't want any introductions – although Lip had no doubt told Ian who was living across the hall from him – or any conversations to lead to who he was. More importantly, who his dad was. Just as his body really started to react to his touch there was a thump out in the hall and he jumped, his hand whipping out of his boxers. Dot heading out to feed the birds, no doubt. Frustrated, he forced his body out of bed and headed for a shower. A cold shower. That would fix the problem he was now having.

Friday was possibly the best day at work, really. He usually finished around midday as the weekend staff – university students wanting to earn as much cash as they could – came in to take over. As Mickey let the water run over his body he remembered that he had Yev next weekend, not this weekend. Shit. If Grace found out, she would no doubt drug him and drag him to some sort of social function. After drying himself off and putting on clean clothes, he resigned himself to the fact that he owed her. He'd go out tonight and then enjoy a reprieve from Grace-related requests for awhile.

_Leave my fucking balls alone. Where are we going, then?_

_You'll see! Get your ass to work. I swapped with June to start earlier so we both finish at 12. Fuckface is shitty this morning. Come annoy him!_

Trust Grace to be on her phone at work. Mickey shook his head and put his shoes on. He'd skip breakfast this morning, he decided, and stepped straight out into the hall and out of the house.

It was clear that something had upset Ned in a major way; when Mickey got to work and walked past the office, Ned was inside with his head in his hands. Mickey could almost see the dark clouds surrounding his head. It made Mickey happy to see him so down, and he wished he knew what the cause was. Instead of heading into the kitchen to start on the prep for the day, he knocked on the door of the office. Thinking on his feet had never been a strong point for Mickey but he knocked anyway.

“What?” Ned snarled, snapping his head up and glaring at Mickey. His reaction only made Mickey happier but he didn't show it.

“Sorry, Ned. Just wanted to ask about the Homegrown order. Is it arriving today or tomorrow?” Mickey had no idea what bullshit he was talking about, only that Homegrown came once a week, usually a Monday. Ned, who also knew this – and no doubt knew that Mickey knew – stared at Mickey for a moment before his phone buzzed on the desk in front of him. He picked it up and read something before he threw it back down on the desk with a thump. “Didn't mean to interrupt. Everything okay?”

“Not that it's any of your business, but I found myself something delicious the other day – you've never seen anything so pretty – and I think it belongs to someone else.” It took a moment for Mickey to decipher the ridiculous way Ned had spoken; this 'delicious' thing was no doubt a person. “Homegrown arrives on Monday. Get out.”

Mickey turned on his heel, not waiting to be told twice. He thought finding out what had upset Ned would make him feel better but it only served to make his skin crawl. The creep talked about people as if they were objects, things for him to own. Whoever the poor sucker was that caught Ned's eye was in for a hell of a ride. Mickey dropped his keys and phone off, pulled his apron out of his locker and set to work.

When he was partway through his prep, Grace popped her head in and requested that he get his ass into the café to help serve or she would roast him for dinner. Mickey didn't need to think it over. He grew up with Terry as a father, and Mandy as his sister, yet Grace was something in a world of her own. He hated being in the dog house with her. Nevermind his tough upbringing or the fact that he'd been to juvie more times than he could count; Grace could put the fear of god into him with one look. Stepping into the café, he saw a line of maybe three or four people – nothing Grace couldn't handle.

“Isn't it supposed to be busy?” Mickey asked, his eyebrows raised high as Grace started another coffee. He stepped up behind the till as she answered.

“I can handle it. But I thought you might want to serve the customer who's about to enter.” Mickey glanced past the queue and spotted Ian outside on the phone. He groaned inwardly as he took down the current customer's order. Fucking Grace. When he'd taken the money from the man at the till, he headed back for the kitchen. “Where are you going?”

“To do my job.” Mickey said through gritted teeth. He did not want to see Ian, especially not at work where he had to be civil to everyone who set foot inside the building, no matter what. The kitchen was cooler than the café and he felt slightly calmer as he got back into chopping vegetables for Mae. Mickey felt a lot more relaxed out the back where he didn't have to pretend or put on a fake smile for the benefit of someone else. He'd just finished with a bag of tomatoes when Ned came bustling into the kitchen, a smile on his face. Mickey couldn't help but say something. “You've changed your tune.”

“Well yes, Mickey. I have.” Ned said no more, instead opening the fridge and pulling out one of the slices Mae had made earlier in the week. He cut off a slice, wrapped it delicately and left the kitchen, beaming the whole way. Grumbling to himself, Mickey put the slice back in the fridge and cleared away the crumbs Ned had left in his wake.

“He's found a new toy.” Mae piped up from behind him where she was frying onions; the smell was making him hungry for the breakfast that he'd skipped. Mickey turned with a frown on his face. He didn't think Mae paid that much attention to Ned. “Some customer from Wednesday turned up at the bar he goes to last night. His new toy.”

“How do you know?”

“He gossips to me like we're best friends.” Mae said with a shrug, turning the heat down on her onions. A strand of long dark hair fell out from under her hairnet and she tucked it back in. “Thinks he's one of the girls. I listen, he talks.”

Mickey fought the urge to shiver with disgust. “Poor guy.”

“Hey, Ned showers his toys with treats and gifts. I wouldn't feel too sorry for whoever he is.”

Mae disappeared into the freezer and left Mickey to his thoughts; he didn't think it was possible to find Ned creepier than he already did, but apparently he was wrong. He decided to put it out of his mind for the rest of the day. His shift would be over before he knew it and he could head home for a few hours before Grace inevitably forced him out to socialise. When Ned eventually came back towards his office, Mickey wanted to slap the smile right off of his face.

–

“Okay, but you're definitely coming out tonight, right?” Grace was nothing if not determined. She'd come storming into the kitchen at least five times throughout the morning and now that it was midday, her and Mickey were collecting their things from their respective lockers, and here she was checking once again that he was still going out with her. “I don't want you to blow me off, dude.”

“I'm not going to blow you off, dude.” Mickey mocked her and she punched him lightly in the arm. She was so much like Mandy it made him sick sometimes. “I just want to go home and relax for a bit before we head out. Where should I meet you?”

“Let's meet at Charlie Brown's for a drink and then see where the night takes us!” Grace said mysteriously, waving her hands around in front of her face. As if there was magically a million different bars that they could visit; they always stuck to the same two or three when they went out. Mickey glared at her.

“You're such a fucking idiot.”

“Aw, Mick! Thank you!” Grace replied, a hand over her heart as if Mickey had just confessed his undying love for her. “See you tonight, Mickey Mouse!”

As annoying as his friend was, he was almost looking forward to having a drink or two tonight. He hadn't met anyone in a long time and he was overdue for a...release. The sun was high in the sky when he walked home, and by the time he reached his front door – darting inside before he bumped into anyone – he was drenched in sweat. Peeling off his thick work pants, he turned the shower on and stood there in his boxers, still warm despite his lack of clothes. As he was about to pull the last layer of clothing off, a loud thump on his front door made him jump. Thump thump thump. Had the building always been this fucking noisy? Swearing under his breath and not bothering to put any clothes on – it was too fucking hot – he stomped over to the door as another thump landed on it. Mickey pulled it open as aggressively as you can open a door and arranged his face into his best glare.

“What the fuck?!” He half growled, ready to punch whoever this asshole was in the face when he stopped short. It was fucking Ian.

“Shit – sorry. I heard you get home just now and I – well, I really need your help.” Ian breathed out all at once, his green eyes flicking up and down Mickey's partially naked body. Please, fucking god, don't get hard now. Mickey willed his body to obey and kept his glare focused on Ian.

“What the fuck would warrant banging my door down?” Mickey grumbled, losing a little steam with the way Ian looked so pathetic. “What's the problem?”

“I was putting away the last of my shit in the cupboard and – uh, I heard a noise and there's – there's a fucking rat in my house. I can't handle them. Can you help me get rid of it?” Ian was clearly distraught; his were cheeks flushed and he was wringing his hands together. His speech ran together in one long rambling sentence. Mickey had no intentions of valiantly saving the day – he fucking hated rats – but what was he supposed to do? He wiped his thumb across his bottom lip and sighed.

“Let me put some fucking clothes on.”

He left the door open – he'd fucking tidied the day before and god dammit someone was going to appreciate it – and disappeared into his room. A sleeveless shirt was hanging out of a draw and he pulled it on, rooting around for a pair of jeans next. He was about to walk out before he realised the shower was still running and quickly shut it off. When he got back to the door, Ian was standing in the exact same spot, waiting patiently.

“Thanks for this.”

Mickey grunted in return, pulling his door closed and gesturing for Ian to go first. They stepped into Ian's unit and Mickey had a sly look around; it was sparsely decorated but already it had a home feel to it. Mickey thought of is own unit back across the hall. It only felt like home when Yevgeny was there. Fuck, if he really wanted to delve deep into his emotions, he was lonely a lot of the time. Ian clearly lived on his own, too, but his apartment was so much more welcoming than Mickey's. Now was not the time for picking apart his emotional well-being; he forced his mind back to the task at hand.

Ian had stopped in the hallway and now Mickey was aware that the redhead was shivering. Actually shaking at the thought of a rat. Jesus. Ian needed him more than Mickey had realised. “Where'd you last see it?”

“It – uh, I think it went into my room. Here -” Ian handed Mickey an empty box. “If you can get it in there, we can take it to the river or something. It'll find its friends.” Mickey didn't miss the 'we' in Ian's words and sighed to himself, taking the box from Ian.

The unit was set out the same as Mickey's so he found the bedroom easy enough. It was the messiest room in the house – clothes littered the floor, a box full of junk sat in the corner and the bed was unmade, shoes and even more clothes strewn across it. Ian was almost glued to Mickey's back as they moved into the room together. Mickey turned and shut the door behind them.

“What the fuck are you doing? I don't wanna be fucking shut in here with it!” Ian protested, his hand reaching out for the handle before Mickey hit it away.

“If you want to chase this fucker around the house, be my guest, but don't expect me to help. It's better to keep it shut in one room.” Mickey said bluntly, and Ian nodded solemnly. They both turned to face the room, Ian trembling slightly beside him. Mickey didn't like rats any more than the next person, but this guy seemed to have a fully fledged phobia. He turned his voice to a whisper and continued talking. “It's probably under the bed.”

“So, do you work everyday at that café? I went there today – didn't see you.”

“Really, man? Now is the time you wanna ask me about this?”

“Under the bed, you reckon?” Ian blustered, his cheeks blushing slightly as Mickey raised an eyebrow towards him. Ian bent his head close to Mickey's, his eyes watching Mickey fearfully. Mickey realised that although Ian's eyes were green, he had a thin gold ring around his pupil. It gave the affect that his eyes were sparkling. Ian raised his eyebrows; shit fucking shit. He cleared his throat loudly and dropped his eyes.

“Yes, I reckon. Get on the bed as quietly as you can. I'm going to gesture when you need to jump, okay?” Mickey moved as stealthily as he could to the end of the bed while Ian climbed up on top, careful not to knock any of his shit onto the floor. Lowering the box to the floor – with any luck, the fucker would come straight out and into the box – Mickey lifted his head and nodded to Ian. 

But Mickey, of course, had the worst luck. There was a moment when Ian started jumping that Mickey heard the rat start to move, and held himself in what he hoped was a prepared position. It wasn't. The rat shot out from underneath the bed a few feet away from the box and ended up in the corner of the room behind another open box. Mickey swore to himself and straightened up. Ian sat on the bed, his feet not touching the floor, and watched. As quietly as he could, Mickey crept over towards the corner. He sat his empty box on one side of the moving box that the rat was behind and in one swift movement, he kicked the other side. A thud told him that he rat had found his empty box and he shut it up, trying not to throw up at the sounds of the rat scuttling around in the box.

“Oh my god,” Ian breathed out, one hand on his chest. Mickey wanted to laugh at him. He handed the box over wordlessly, wanting to get it away from him as soon as possible. 

“You can deal with that. I can't handle rats.” Mickey said gruffly, watching Ian's face turn from one of relief to shock at what Mickey had said.

“What? Why did you help me then? Thank you!”

“Don't mention it.”

“I never got your name when I moved in...” Ian left his sentence hanging, waiting for Mickey to fill in the blanks.

“I'm sure you'll figure it out if you don't already know.” Mickey said as he walked back down the hallway. He was almost out the door when Ian spoke again.

“Wait – what? Hey – wait a second!” Ian huffed, following in Mickey's wake briskly. “How can I make it up to you?”

Was Mickey imagining it, or was Ian flirting with him? Guys didn't flirt with him. They were usually put off by the FUCK U UP tattoos on his knuckles. Or, you know, his general demeanour. It made it that much harder to find casual fucks but Mickey was persistent. He usually got what he wanted. He stopped at the door and turned to face Ian, leaning on the doorway as he did. He looked Ian up and down, taking a moment to appreciate his physique because damn, Red sure did like wearing tight t shirts. What was Mickey supposed to do? “Don't mention it.” He repeated, his tone indicating that the conversation was over, and he turned around and left. Hopefully that meant Ian would leave him alone; couldn't get much clearer than that. Mickey did not want the same guy his dad almost beat to death trying to flirt with him. Christ. For the second time that day, Mickey headed for a cold shower. He really needed to get fucked.

–

Charlie Brown's was an okay bar to hang out in. It had a chill kinda vibe that Mickey didn't mind, and they didn't charge through the roof for drinks. They played decent music, too, which Mickey appreciated; he wasn't one for electro music like the majority of bars and clubs seemed to play. When he met Grace later that evening, he was doing his best not to think about Ian. Or the fact that Ian had seen Mickey in his boxers and then had proceeded to maybe kind of flirt with him after the rat incident. It was like something out of a sitcom, for fuck's sake.

“I'm so glad I finally dragged you out of the house!” Grace called loudly when Mickey walked over to her. She was clearly already a few drinks in judging by the empty glasses on the table and Mickey was slightly grateful – she was a lot kinder to him when she was drinking. She gestured for him to sit opposite her in the booth she was currently occupying and as he took off his jacket, she tottered up to the bar to get him a drink. Heads turned as she did so, and Mickey cracked his knuckles absent-mindedly; a night out with Grace usually involved telling at least one or two men to fuck off. Grace didn't do fuckboys. She usually did pretty girls.

“One ice cold beer!” Grace announced, almost spilling the drink she clunked down on the table, another beer in her hands for herself. She raised her drink. “To Mickey!”

Mickey raised his glass and took a long sip; beer was quite possibly his favourite thing ever. “Why the fuck are we toasting me again?”

“Because you're you, Mickey!” Grace said happily, taking another gulp of her drink. Mickey grinned at her.

“You're drunk, Gracie!” He taunted her; she hated being called Gracie. It reminded her of her mother, and Mickey made sure to use it whenever he could.

“I am not. You, sir, can get fucked! No, but seriously though, you need to get fucked – why don't you scout the town for that lovely redhead? Mandy!” Grace jumped from one thing to the next, standing up and launching herself at Mandy who'd just arrived at their table. The two girls went up to the bar together, talking animatedly together as they did. Mickey shook his head. He was actually starting to enjoy himself.

“I was just saying to Mickey that he needs to get fucked.” Grace declared as they returned to the table. Mandy raised her eyebrows in greeting to her brother, sipping on her own beer.

“Mickey does need to get fucked, but not the way you're thinking of, Grace.” Mandy commented and Grace laughed loudly, her head titled back. Mickey rolled his eyes at his sister.

“Did you ever talk to that redhead, Mandy?” Grace questioned.

“Only for a minute. He had to go because he was moving house. His name is Ian.” Mandy said with a wiggle of her eyebrows, telling Mickey what he already knew.

“What's his last name?” Mickey asked quizzically, and Mandy shook her head. Mickey was surprised; Mandy was usually pretty good with names and faces.

“We didn't exchange life stories, Mickey.”

“You should know him more than me; he's Lip's brother. Gallagher.”

There was a moment where it registered with Mandy and then she banged her hand on the table, shaking her head. “I knew I recognised him! I only ever met him once or twice – I was much more interested in his brother.”

“Ew.” Grace commented quietly, but Mandy didn't hear her, too busy thinking about the new revelation of who Ian was. Mickey raised an eyebrow and Grace shook her head, dismissing the comment quickly. “Ian, huh?”

“Wait – how do you know who he is, Mickey?”

“He told you he was moving house? He moved in across the hall.”

Both girls squealed with delight – totally out of character for the pair of them. Mickey watched as they grinned at each other in delight, clearly happy with this turn of events. He sipped his beer and glanced around the bar; it was pretty empty tonight and he was thankful. There was nothing he hated more than a packed bar full of people attempting to talk – and ending up shouting – over the loud music.

“Have you fucked him yet?” He almost choked on his beer at Mandy's blunt question. He should know better than to drink when Mandy was talking. “Well, have you, you big prude?”

“Fuck off. No, I haven't. I don't think you're really remembering who he is, Mandy.” Mickey said carefully, aware that mentioning his dad would send the conversation in another direction. “Dad beat him up a few months before I came out. Remember?”

It had the affect Mickey knew it would. Mandy slumped back in her seat, a sullen look on her face as she remembered. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Well there's no way you can fuck him, now.” Clearly, their dad didn't have the same affect he used to have on Mandy. She was mourning the loss of a fuck for Mickey, not uncomfortable at the mention of their shitty dad.

“I wasn't fucking going to in the first place!”

“Why not? He was cute!”

“Jesus, Mandy.”

Grace looked between the two of them as they bickered and grinned. She downed the last of her beer as Mickey did the same, and let out a large burp, interrupting their argument. “Ah, sibling love. Makes me wish I wasn't an only child. Wait – no it doesn't! Another round?”

Five drinks in, and Mickey was feeling a little wobbly. He could hold his alcohol pretty well, but it was usually about now that he started to really feel it. Thankfully, the girls had left the topic of Ian alone after the second drink, and the three of them had been babbling about everything and nothing all at once. Regardless of the fact that he wasn't a big going out person, Mickey did enjoy it now that he was out. He let the girls talk, choosing instead to sit back and watch them. Mandy had been delighted with Mickey after he first introduced the pair. Their personalities were almost identical and he almost lost Grace to Mandy – they went out three times in one week, and Grace flat out told him that Mandy was more fun than he was. He wasn't upset; Mickey was too easy to make fun of apparently. Grace would never leave his sorry ass.

Mickey had just come back from the bathroom, passing by the bar for another beer – his last, maybe. Probably not. He was about to sit back down with the girls when something caught his eye. Was it? No. As if he would be in a place like this. The lights had dimmed over the time they'd been at the bar, the music louder now. Mixed with the alcohol running through his system, it made his eyesight not as good as it was when he was sober. Mickey leaned against the booth walls; the girls were immersed in conversation about which Jonas brother was the hottest – what the actual fuck? - and Mickey watched the corner of the bar carefully. He was sure of what he'd seen a moment ago, but now he was squinting through the crowd, doubting himself.

Ned. He knew it. Mickey's boss was now at the bar, flirting in the most obvious and over the top way possible – Mickey could tell even with the distance between them. He was clearly in a better mood than he'd been at work. Ned leaned across the bar to pay for his drinks, a large smile stretched across his slimy face. The bartender, Mickey was pleased to see, wasn't having any of it. He handed over two elaborate looking drinks without so much as a smile and Ned took them, his own face never changing. Mickey watched carefully as Ned headed back to the corner and almost dropped his drink.

Ned was with Ian. Ian. And Ned. What the fucking fuck was going on? This was the new toy Mae had mentioned? The person that had Ned in the darkest of moods one minute and as high as a kite the next? Fuck. Fuck. Mickey wasn't sure what to think; he didn't know the redhead, not really. They were neighbours. Mickey had captured a rat for him. Ian had – had he? – flirted with him. Mickey's dad had attempted to kill Ian. The usual casual acquaintance, you know. Were guys like Ned who Ian was in to? Fuck, who was Mickey to judge, really? He watched them talking happily, in their own little bubble and unaware of the glares Mickey was sending their way. The thing that bothered him the most was that Ian probably didn't fully understand just how much of a douche Ned was. Maybe he should go over and tell him?

“Mickey! The gay one. Which one – Nick or Joe?” Grace's drunken voice cut through the noise of the bar and right through Mickey's thoughts, at the best moment. Walking over there was a bad idea, one he would very much regret. He turned and practically flung himself into the booth; he didn't want Ian or Ned to catch him staring.

“'The gay one'? Are you fucking kidding me Grace?” 

“Hey, I'm not gay. I'm pansexual.” She said it with such flair that Mickey had to laugh. Mandy was staring at Grace, clearly not aware how openly she was doing so. Mickey kicked her under the table. “Settle the argument. Nick or Joe?”

Mickey had no idea who Nick or Joe were but Grace clearly wasn't going to drop it and Mandy was not-so-subtly mouthing a name to her. He hazarded a guess. “Nick.”

Grace let out an evil laugh of delight. “In your face, Mandy Milkovich!”

“Fuck you! Joe is way hotter!” Mandy shot back, and Mickey recognised the flames behind her eyes. A Milkovich trait. Shit was about to get serious.

“How about we head back to mine for another beer? It's fucking cheaper than wasting our money here.” Mickey suggested, surprised he still the brain power needed to keep the two girls from arguing over which Jonas brother was hotter. They both seemed keen on the idea and started the slow process of extracting themselves from the booth.

The unfortunate thing about where they were sitting, though, was that their table was on route to the toilets. Which meant, of course, that anyone using the bathroom would have to bypass their table. At the exact moment that the girls had begun to walk away towards the door and Mickey had turned to follow, who should he physically bump into?

“Watch it!” Mickey growled, hoping he would get away before Ian properly realised who he was. 

“Mickey?” Too late.

“Pretty sure I never gave you my name, Red.” Mickey said evenly, turning to face Ian front on. He put his hand on the wall next to him, a little unsteady on his feet. He was vaguely aware that the girls were waiting out front for him.

“Uh – yeah. My brother told me your name.” As Ian spoke, his head seemed to float above his head. Shit, he should see a doctor about that.

“Of course he did. You here on your own?” Mickey bit his lip, waiting to see what Ian's answer would be. Ian shifted from one foot to the other, glancing over to where Ned was probably still sitting and Mickey hoped like fuck that his boss didn't spot him. “Pretty face like yours. You should probably have some sort of protection.”

Okay, where the fuck did that come from? Mickey wanted to punch himself in the face. Did he really just say that? Ian had some weird half smile shit on his face, and it made Mickey feel sick. Or was that the alcohol? Shit. It was as if the beers – and maybe a shot or four – were only just hitting him now. Ian's mouth was moving but Mickey wasn't too sure what words were coming out. Now it felt as if his own head was doing the floating thing. The music was deafening now, a constant thump in his head and he shook it roughly. It only made him feel worse. He thought he heard Ian laugh over the roar of the music.

“You okay?”

“Going...home,” Mickey managed to mumble and turned on his heel, keeping one hand close to the wall at all times. The wall was safe. The wall kept him from falling flat on his face. He walked out the door, the cool summer air making him feel slightly better. The girls were further down the building, leaning against the wall kissing. No, wait. Talking. His mind was fucked. He really had drunk a lot, hadn't he? Mickey walked towards them where they'd now somehow gotten a cab to pull up out of nowhere. They bundled into it and Mickey gave his address; the girls were silent, and Mickey was glad for it. He closed his eyes. His head was pounding furiously. But why? It wasn't morning. He didn't have a hangover.

Except that he did. He felt the bed around him, a body next to him. His sister snoring like a fucking freight train sending waves of pain through his head. His sheets scratched him. The room was hot. He opened one eye and saw that it was spinning. That wasn't right, was it? His room wasn't supposed to spin. Had it always spun? All at once, he realised he was going to vomit. The dash to the toilet was surprisingly easy all things considered and with each heave, his head felt as if it would thud open and spill his brain all over the floor. When he was done, he wiped his face and somehow crawled back to bed. Thank fuck he didn't work Saturdays. What the fuck had he drunk last night? Mickey tried desperately to remember any aspect of the night before, and the only one that came rushing back was him. The redhead. Ian. Mickey had been pretty far gone by that point. Ian's laughing face came swimming up to him. What the fuck did he say to him? Fuck fucking fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I say thank you for the wonderful comments on my first chapter?! You're all wonderful. Cookies for everyone. I hope you like the second installment! I've wanted to upload this all week but I made myself wait; it's Saturday in New Zealand already ;) Chapter three will be up next week! Thank you for the comments. I love you all!
> 
> Come hang on tumblr: [thegameismoriarty](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com)


	3. Step Three: Friends Before Lovers Can Cause Complications

There had been a great shortage of role models in Mickey's life since forever. His dad was a worthless pile of crap that Mickey never wanted to see again. His brothers were just as dodgy as he was, and his sister, though she'd had a shit upbringing just like he had, had left a little while before Mickey had decided to. He didn't like school, so no chance of anyone decent there. Juvie only served to harden his exterior; if he'd tried, maybe there would have been a guard or social worker that would have taken Mickey under their wing but like fuck Mickey was letting that happen. In short, he had no one to help him be a Better Person. So, he'd done it his fucking self.

It hadn't been easy. Extracting yourself from family ties and mob-like dealings wasn't easy. His dad was in prison, and would hopefully be there for a long time, but his brothers were confused as to why Mickey would want to be a Better Person. Where was the fun in that when Mickey could be a drug mule or beat the shit out of someone who owed their family money? Didn't he want to continue on the family tradition? Mandy had left home early after dodging an abusive boyfriend – Mickey later helped her put the shit brick in prison – and finding a permanent job in a daycare, she was done with the family 'business'. It was only a matter of time before Mickey followed, really. He and Mandy had always been the closest out of all of their siblings. Not that Mickey didn't get on with his brothers, but they were too murder and drug focused. Mickey was done with that shit.

When he came out – stupidly, according to Mandy – and his dad was sent to prison, that was the final straw for Mickey. His dad had been adamant that Mickey leave home after it had all gone down – was adamant really the right word? Maybe fuming with rage and foaming at the mouth was a better fit. Mickey didn't need to be told twice. He'd left the week after Terry had been sent away, his brothers complaining that he didn't really need to, not now that Terry was away. But Mickey didn't want to stick around and see what would happen if Terry got out. Or if he sent someone to find out if Mickey was still living in his house. No thank you.

It hadn't been an easy choice to come out, but Mickey wasn't stupid; it had to be done. He'd grown tired of living a lie. Telling himself he was someone else, desperately trying to convince himself that he wasn't supposed to be this way, that he couldn't be this way. It had wrecked him, worn him out. Mandy had been the only one who'd known growing up – she'd found the same pile of magazines that Terry would eventually find. She'd insisted she wouldn't say anything and Mickey had believed her; she feared their dad just as much as he did. Mandy also made a big deal about knowing he was gay since they were kids; Mickey refused to believe that he was that transparent.

All in all, his childhood had been shit and he was determined to make a better life for himself that Yevgeny would then benefit from. He now had a steady job and an okay place to live. But now he needed a role model. He was going to level up from Better Person to Friendly Neighbour. And he had no fucking idea how to do that.

“Hello? Mickey Mouse? Wake the fuck up. Coffee.” Grace prodded his back with her fingers and he rolled over, sitting up to rub his eyes. The sun was high in the sky outside and he couldn't hear Dot feeding the birds; it must be late morning.

“What's the time?”

“Past lunch. You slept the whole morning. Mandy left early.” Grace looked as bad as Mickey felt; the bags under her eyes were a dark grey colour, and her short hair had definitely seen better days. She handed him a mug of coffee and disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear moments later with her own steaming mug. She crawled into Mickey's bed and sipped her drink quietly.

“You sleep on the couch? Surprised you let Mandy have the bed.” Mickey's head was sore, but no way near as bad as it had been earlier that morning when he'd vomited. He shuddered at the thought. He hated being hungover.

“I couldn't be bothered arguing with her.” Grace shrugged, closing her eyes and leaning against the headboard of the bed. Mickey watched her carefully, noting the change in her mood. “Was that really Ian at the end of the night?”

Mickey groaned loudly, leaning back to join her. “You saw him? You and Mandy were heading outside at that point.”

“We both saw him but we – we went outside to call a cab.” Grace said firmly.

“What's up with you?”

“Nothing is up with me!” It was too early for arguments. Mickey let it go and decided he'd pick at her later; she was definitely not herself this morning. They sipped their drinks in silence, a soft breeze coming in the windows that Grace had no doubt opened. “When do you next have Yev? We should take him to that new adventure playground that just opened across town.”

“Next weekend.”

Silence again. Mickey downed the last of his coffee and felt slightly more human for it. Grace did the same and stood up, stretching her long limbs as she did. “I think I'll go. See you at work tomorrow?”

Grace didn't even wait for an answer; she practically ran out of Mickey's unit and left him staring after her. Grace was usually in good spirits. It wasn't like her to be moody, even if she was hungover. He decided to leave it. She would talk to him if she wanted to. Plus, Mickey had more important things to tend to. Like how to become a Friendly Neighbour and get closer to Ian.

After seeing Ned and Ian together the night before, Mickey had woken up with a new mission: to get closer to his new neighbour and hopefully help him see that Ned was the biggest idiot to ever have walked the planet. Aside from Terry. It was his neighbourly duty, really. It wasn't because he had a giant third grade crush on the redhead because he most certainly did not. Mickey didn't do crushes. Never had. He wasn't about to start now. He just wanted to make sure that Ian wasn't making a mistake with Ned; he'd do the same for anyone dating his dickhead boss. Wouldn't he?

Mickey decided to tidy after Grace had left. They'd clearly continued to drink after they got back to Mickey's; his fridge was now empty of beer, and the cans were littered across the table and floor. Blankets were strewn across the couch where Grace had slept and the whole apartment reeked of stale alcohol. The problem was, he thought to himself as he began picking up the empty cans, that he had no idea how to go about being a Friendly Neighbour. He wasn't about to bake a fucking batch of muffins and take them over in a basket. And hadn't he already been neighbourly by catching that rat? He'd done enough, right? But maybe not. He'd also maybe embarrassed himself in front of Ian the night before at the bar. Fuck, he wished he could remember what had been said between them. For all Mickey knew, he'd tried to kiss the guy. No, he was pretty sure he hadn't. Even in his hungover state, he was sure he hadn't done anything that drastic. Shit, he wouldn't do anything so forward sober.

Now that the cans were all in the trash, he began folding the blankets Grace had slept with. What did neighbours do? He'd never been friendly with anyone who lived in his area before. It was the south side, not fucking Wisteria Lane from Desperate Housewives. He'd caught Mandy watching the show once and she'd threatened to kill him if he told anyone – he had no problems believing she would and he hadn't spoken about it to anyone. He'd even watched an episode with her, just to make her happy. The residents had thrown a street party – is that what he should do? No fucking way – too much effort, and he didn't want to get to know any other neighbours. Just one.

Mickey's place looked a lot better and the best part about living in such a small place was that it took no more than ten minutes to clean. He flopped down on the couch and turned the TV on for background noise. There had to be something he could do that would help him get closer to Ian. He couldn't just walk over and say 'hey, Ned's a douche and you should fuck me instead'. Especially seeing as he didn't want to fuck Ian. He was just being Neighbourly. That was it.

Or could he say that? He wondered briefly if Ian was home – he had no idea what the guy did for work – and decided to throw caution to the wind. Fuck this.

Mickey knocked on Ian's door quietly – he still had a small headache – and waited not-so-patiently. There was no sound from inside but Ian could be a later sleeper. Mickey knocked once more, a little louder this time, but no more than his head could handle. Nothing. He turned around and had his hand on his own door handle when the door to the building opened. So far, Mickey mused, their neighbourly relationship was built on good timing.

“Were you knocking on my door just now?” Ian asked as he stepped into the building. Mickey noted that Ian was wearing the same clothes he was in last night – for someone who was as drunk as he was, parts of Mickey's memory seemed to be fully in tact – and that his hair was definitely bed hair. He felt a weird sickly feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with his hangover.

“Uh – yeah, man. I wanted to ask you something.” What a dumb fuck thing to say, Mickey realised a moment later. What did he want to ask him? If Ian wanted to go to bed? No. He wanted to grill the tall fucker on what he was doing with a geriatric like Ned but he was hardly going to blurt out the question. He wanted to go full spy on his tall ass and weasel the information out of him. Fuck. What was it about this red-headed idiot that sent Mickey's brain into a fizz? Ian was in front of him now, pulling his keys out of his pocket and waiting expectantly. Mickey fumbled with the edge of his t-shirt. When did it get so hot in here? “I – uh, I just -”

“I'm surprised you're able to string a sentence together. You seemed like you were having a good time last night.” Thank fuck Ian changed the subject; it gave Mickey time to think of whatever he apparently wanted to ask Ian. He rubbed the back of his head absently.

“Yeah, my friend Grace and my sister dragged me out.”

“Mandy, right? I spoke to her briefly at the café the other day. I kinda remember her from school – she dated my brother?” Ian wasn't moving inside any time soon; he leaned against the wall next to his door and Mickey stood in front of him awkwardly. He felt like a teenage boy with a boner in front of a class full of kids.

“Yeah.” Good input, Mickey thought stupidly. “You out with friends last night?” Or some ancient senior with a hard on for pretty boys? His thoughts were bitter as he watched Ian bite his lip before smiling.

“Uh, no. One friend. A new friend.” Ian was avoiding answering the question directly and Mickey had no idea how to extract the details about whatever this shit was with Ned without using illegal torture methods. Fuck it all. “So what did you wanna ask me?”

“I'm having a few people over for dinner on Wednesday. Wanna come? A kind of welcome to the building, I guess.” Who the fuck was he just now? Fucking Martha Stewart? Mickey had no idea where the idea of a dinner party – jesus christ – had come from but it was out now, and he had no way to take it back. Especially because now Ian was smiling widely and nodding; shit.

“That sounds great! Listen, I'm beat but let me know the details later. See ya.” Ian disappeared inside his place, shutting the door on Mickey's bewildered face. What the fuck had he just done?

–

“Listen, I don't know what the fuck was up with you on Saturday – and believe me, I'll shout you a beer when you finally feel like telling me – but I need your fucking help.” Mickey's voice was desperate as he pleaded with Grace on Monday morning. He'd not heard from her for the rest of the weekend, and had given her space for whatever was going on, but now he was starting to panic. His 'dinner party' – every time he thought those two words, he wanted to kick himself – was 2 days away and he had not planned a single thing. He stood now in front of Grace as they ate together outside on their breaks; the sun was beaming down on them, causing them to swelter ever so slightly in their uniforms.

“Nothing was up with me on Saturday, Mr Mouse. What's your dilemma?” Grace's tone was upbeat, but there was something behind her smile; Mickey didn't want to push it.

“I kind of invited Ian to a dinner party.” Mickey told her, the words sounding even more ridiculous out loud. He shoved the last of his apple into his mouth and chucked the core into a nearby bin.

“Why didn't you invite me?” She whined, taking a swig from her water bottle.

“Because it wasn't even a thing until it came out of my mouth!” Mickey seethed, standing up and beginning to pace now as he thought about his impending doom.

“Alright, jesus. What do you need help with?” 

“Fucking everything, Grace.”

“You work as a fucking kitchen hand in a kitchen, Milkovich! And speaking of which, since when did that name mean whining like a little baby? Grow a fucking pair!” Grace stood up, adding to the anger that seemed to emanate from her out of nowhere. Mickey took a step back. “Look, you got yourself into this mess. Use your fucking head.”

“Jesus, Grace. You okay?” Mickey asked, his voice low and Grace shook her head.

“Personal shit. Am I invited to this shin-dig or not?” Mickey didn't answer, instead he stared at her and waited for more of an explanation to her sudden mood swing. She breathed out a sigh, picking up her phone and water. “I got into it with a girl. Messed around. Don't think she's really into me. I should have known better.”

A memory pricked in Mickey's brain but he had no idea what it was, or what the relevance was. He shook his head and offered his friend a rare smile. “I know what will cheer you up.”

“Your head on a platter?” She answered miserably, and they made to go back inside the café.

“Maybe. Come to my very first dinner party. Watch me make a fucking fool out of myself in front of Ian.” Mickey said and Grace cracked a smile, her face lighting up.

“Wait a second – why did you even talk to him? You like him, don't you? Oh my god, you like him!”

And that was the end of that conversation. Mickey darted back inside to get back to work before he was subjected to twenty one questions about his developing crush on Ian. 

–

Planning a dinner party was not an easy feat, apparently. Grace came over after work on Monday and they sat together with some paper trying to work out how it would all work. Mickey had text his sister, too, and she was on her way over.

“All I'm saying is why make it hard on yourself? Find some fancy restaurant that does take out and say you cooked. No one will know!” Grace was trying to convince Mickey to fake the whole thing but, although he would never admit it in a million years, he kind of liked the idea of cooking for Ian. Shit. He was well on his way to being gone, wasn't he?

“I'm not fucking doing that, Grace.” There was a knock at the door and it opened, Mandy breezing in. “Yo, Mandy. Tell Grace that I actually have to cook at a fucking dinner party, right?”

The two girls shared a look and Mickey wondered what the fuck was going on between the pair – they always got on. Awkward moment over, Mandy flopped on the couch next to him and looked at the pad of paper in his hands. She snorted at the only word written on the paper: beer. “You have to cook, Mickey.”

Grace made a noise from the other side of him and Mickey felt the odd sensation of being trapped in the middle. “Shoot me some ideas.”

“Alright, Annie Oakley. What are you good at cooking?” Mandy asked and Mickey thought for a moment.

“Mae doesn't let me do heaps in the kitchen – mostly prep work. What if I did home-made pizza? But like...nice pizza. With herbs and shit.”

“Hopefully not actual shit.” Grace added and Mandy laughed. “Do we need to bring something?”

“Shit, I don't know! How do you plan a fucking dinner party you never meant to organise?” Mickey erupted. The pressure of entertaining was apparently getting to him. “How do these usually work?”

“Let us just remember the millions of dinner parties we've collectively been to – you fucking idiot. Who else is coming?” Grace demanded, suddenly angry again.

“Uh – you two?”

Both Grace and Mandy made a noise of anger now. Mickey shrunk back into the couch and wondered how he ever got to this point; didn't he used to be tough? People used to cross the road to get away from him. Shit, people smiled at him on the street now. Regular customers, people he knew from work; when did this happen? Admittedly, he had wanted a straighter life for himself and Yev, but fuck – he was getting wailed on by two girls here. 

“You're a fucking dickhead, Mickey, do you know that?” To be fair, they weren't your average girls. “Cook a fucking pizza or two. Mandy – bring some garlic bread or salad or something shitty like that. Mickey, make sure you have beer in the house and I'll bring a bottle of wine. You should invite someone else.”

“I don't know who!” Mickey complained quietly; the girls stood up and were clearly ready to leave. “Honestly, I don't.”

“Jesus christ.” Mandy huffed over to the door and opened it, turning around to glare at Grace and Mickey. “Four people will be fine. It'll be like a fucking double date.”

With that, she slammed the door and left as quickly as she'd arrived, a tense silence left in her wake. Mickey stared after her, his mouth open. “The fuck was that about?!”

“Mickey, you are as blind as a fucking bat.” Grace stormed out after his sister, the door slamming for a second time in the last 30 seconds. Mickey sat there dumbfounded; were bats even blind?

–

It was Tuesday night and Mickey hadn't seen Ian since he'd spontaneously invited him to a previously non-existent dinner party. Mickey had had a shit day at work and was rewarding himself with a beer when there was a knock on the door. Sighing heavily to himself, he got up and opened it to find Ian standing there with a big fucking smile on his dumb face. 

“I hope you don't mind me knocking so late -” It was eight fucking pm. “- but I wondered what time I should come over tomorrow?”

Shit. What time were dinner parties? Mickey briefly wondered if she should tell Ian to wait and ring Mandy or Grace, but he would probably have his head cut off if he did. He took a sip of his beer to kill time and watched Ian's eyes follow the bottle. “Seven. That okay?”

“Of course! I also wanted to ask – is anyone else from the building coming?”

“Fuck no. Dot is in bed by four and Mr Noise upstairs is a douche.” Mickey snorted and Ian tilted his head to the side, mulling over his words.

“So, it's a welcome to the building party but I'm the only one from the building coming?” Ian's eyes were sparkling again, like he was some fucking magic wizard or some shit. Mickey wanted to throw him against the wall and fuck the sparkle out of him. Christ. He didn't even fully know what that meant and his dick was reacting. Time to shut the door. “Did you throw parties to welcome them to the building?”

“Like I said, Dot and Mr Noise aren't exactly my cup of tea. You don't like it, don't come.” Ignoring that question was probably best. Mickey shrugged and moved his body behind the door slightly. “My sister and friend are coming.”

“Oh, so it's not a date then?” Did he sound disappointed? No. He was teasing, though – flirting again?

“No, it's not. See you tomorrow.” It wasn't until the door was shut that Mickey remembered Operation Friendly Neighbour. He was pretty sure slamming the door in someone's face wasn't the best start. 

Downing the last of his beer, he retired to his bedroom. He sent a quick text to Mandy about the dinner party time; were dinner parties a late evening thing? Should he have said eight? Almost a minute later, he got a selfie back. Mandy. Flipping him off. Right.

It was too hot for clothes and he stripped completely, enjoying the cool sheets on his skin. He really fucking loved getting into bed after a long day. It was always enjoyable with someone else, but then he was never in bed with someone for the home comfort of it. He was always in it for something else. Almost lazily, he moved his hand down his body and took his cock in his hand, feeling the way it almost instantly hardened. His mind was already on Ian. Who the fuck else would it be on?

He thought about the red-head’s mouth, the way his lips turned up when he smiled. Ian had nice fucking lips, but Mickey imagined how much nicer they'd be wrapped around his cock, warm and wet, taking Mickey whole. Fuck. His breath was coming faster now, his hand moving swiftly. His other hand grabbed the sheet, twisting it round as he imagined Ian going down on him. A soft moan escaped his lips as he thought about what Ian's cock would look like; how it would feel to take him completely. In his mind's eye, Mickey saw himself on all fours, Ian behind him. Their bodies sweaty. The sound of their skin slapping together. Mickey was there already. He came all at once, clamping his lips closed for fear he would utter a name. He was in fucking deep, and in just under a week of meeting Ian. Shit.

–

Wednesday had rolled around far too quickly for Mickey's liking. It was a week to the day since Ian had moved in, and Mickey wasn't sure what the fuck was going on with himself, but he was so far gone that he had even considered telling Grace and Mandy not to come. That was before he remembered that Ian was with Ned – apparently? – and Mickey wasn't trying to fuck Ian. Well, not consciously. He was trying to be a Friendly Neighbour in order to find more about what was going on between Ian and Ned, so that he could work it to his own benefit and maybe end up fucking Ian. Wait. No. Just the Friendly Neighbour part. Shit. This was all going to turn to crap.

Mickey had somehow convinced Mae to give him the afternoon off and he'd already been shopping for everything he needed, and then some. He'd bought almost double of everything; he didn't want to risk running out of food. Or drink, for that matter. He had enough beer to feed a Milkovich family reunion, and that was fucking saying something. His fridge was full, which was a rare occurrence, and as the clock struck six, he started to panic. Just a little. Maybe.

If working in a kitchen had taught him anything, it was that you should always be prepared. Mickey had already made his dough and set it aside; all of his vegetables were cut and stored in containers that he maybe borrowed without asking from work. He'd already pre-cooked the meat and set it aside. All that was left was to put the actual pizzas together, but he didn't want to do it yet. He had no idea whether or not Ian would be on time – it's not like he'd get stuck in traffic in the two steps between their doors – but he didn't want the evening to fly by. He'd start cooking once they got here, or closer to seven. Mickey stood in the kitchen, a beer in hand, and surveyed his handiwork. 

A knock on the door had him jumping out of his skin and almost spilling his drink. He turned to face it as it opened, terrified that Ian had arrived early or gotten the time wrong but Mandy came in, a bowl in her hands and a smile on her face. Mickey was glad; he hadn't seen her in person since she'd stormed out of his place on Monday night. She breezed into the kitchen and gave Mickey two air kisses before putting the bowl into the fridge.

“Mickey, darling! How are you?” Mandy asked, her voice sounding like someone who'd walked off of the set of Downton Abbey. 

“You're the worst kind of sister.” Mickey commented, pulling a beer out and handing it over to her. She cracked it open, drunk down half the can and burped loudly.

“I'm the best kind of sister, Mickey Mouse.” Mickey groaned; her and Grace spent too much time together. Mandy looked around the room, nodding her head slightly to the music Mickey had put on quietly. “Rockin' party.”

“Shut the fuck up. It's a dinner party, not a keg party.”

“Clearly.”

“Fuck you. Not gonna storm out of here again?” Mickey demanded as they sat down at the dining table with their drinks, feeling the breeze drift in the open window nearby.

“Shut up. I was in a mood.” Mandy said and Mickey waited patiently. They'd always been closer than their other siblings; not the tell each other everything kind, but tell each other almost everything kind. Mandy sighed and took another swig of her beer. “Relationship troubles.”

Mickey snorted to himself. “You and Grace both, then.”

“Really? What's up with her?” Mandy asked curiously, her eyebrows raised, and Mickey shook his head. 

“Something about getting into it with a girl who may or may not be straight? I don't know; she didn't elaborate much.” Mandy chewed her lip, staring away from Mickey. “I just want this fucking night to be over.”

The door opened then, making them both jump, and Grace burst in. She took in the scene and produced a bottle of wine from the canvas bag she was carrying. “Anyone care for a drink?”

Half an hour later, and Mickey had probably had too much to drink to be cooking. He wasn't drunk; maybe a little tipsy. The closer it got to seven, the more his nervous increased and at five minutes to the hour when there was a knock on the door, Mickey was sure he was about to pass out. Shaking his head roughly, he pulled the door open. Ian stood there, dressed in green and a large bottle of wine in his hands.

“Hi!” He said brightly, holding the wine out to Mickey and looking past him into the unit at the girls. 

“Hi, Ian!” Mandy said happily, coming to the door and pulling him in. Mickey groaned inwardly; she was no doubt going to find a way to embarrass him tonight, Mickey was sure of it. “Come in. Thanks for coming!”

“Thanks for inviting me!”

Well, wasn't it all sunshine and rainbows in here? Mickey ignored the introductions and chatter as he pulled out the dough and began to work it, rolling it out and kneading it. He lost himself in his work; the three others were talking behind him at the table as Mickey spread tomato paste on the pizzas, adding the meat and vegetables before he put cheese and a few fresh herbs on. They looked almost as good as the ones Mae made at work, and he was pleasantly surprised; they would hopefully taste just as good.

“Do you need a hand?” Ian was at his side suddenly, a glass of wine in his hands and a smile on his goofy alien-looking face. Mickey wanted to fuck his brains out. “It looks great!”

“Thanks.” Mickey mumbled, his face down as he arranged the pizzas on the tray and lifted them, ready to put them in the oven. A Milkovich saying thank you was a rare occurrence in itself, add to that the tall idiot in front of him, and Mickey had never felt more awkward muttering the phrase. “I've got it, though.”

“Are you the chef at The Crafty Dog then?”

“No, kitchen hand. I cook a bit, though.” Mickey told him before realising he knew nothing about Ian. A casual question about his work could easily lead to more about Ned. “What do you do?”

“I'm kind of studying and working at the same time – I want to be a teacher. I have a few part time jobs doing different things.” Ian explained, and Mickey closed the oven, pizzas safely inside. He reached for his beer on the bench and kept listening, aware that the girls were in the other room talking. He really didn't want them ogling him as he talked to Ian. “I work at the Kash and Grab during the week, and at The Glorious Fairy every other weekend.”

Mickey almost choked on his drink at the name of what he presumed was a gay bar. Ian smirked at him, and Mickey struggled to regain his composure. He coughed slightly, hoping he didn't look too much like a fucking idiot. “Where do you find time to study with all of that going on?”

“Night classes. Wednesday is my only night off, actually.” Ian told him, and Mickey nodded. “It's not easy but I want to do it, so I get by. Plus, I'm south side. Getting by on nothing is a skill we all learn growing up on the south side.”

Mickey laughed along with Ian, but he wondered quietly how easily Ian was getting by. In the next breath, he mentally slapped himself for caring. How did this crush thing even work? Distantly, he heard the girls raising their voices and rolled his eyes; no doubt the Jonas Brother argument again. “So – uh – no more rats then?” Jesus fucking christ.

Ian smirked like he knew exactly what was going on; he shook his head as he watched Mickey closely. “No rats.”

Their conversation lulled into a weird silence and Mickey heard the girls quieten down. He turned back to Ian who was watching him carefully and decided fuck it. Friendly Neighbour wasn't getting Ian to open up. Maybe flat out asking him would. He almost cringed as he spoke. “Dating anyone?”

It was Ian's turn to be surprised, and Mickey was kind of glad for it. He'd felt like an idiot this whole conversation. “Uh – no, man. I'm not.”

“Right, okay, yeah. I just thought I saw you with someone the other night at Charlie Brown's.” Mickey felt like he was interrogating Ian, and the latter clearly thought the same. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet and Mickey changed tactics. “He just looked like someone I knew, that's all.” A beat of silence. “He looked like my boss, Ned.”

There was no doubting that the level of awkwardness shot up as soon as Mickey said Ned's name. Ian looked away and took a sip of his almost empty glass and Mickey studied his face. When Ian turned back to look at him, he had a bright smile on his face and he laughed softly. “Huh!” He said nothing else and Mickey realised the conversation was over when the girls came back into the room, complaining of hunger pains.

The meal went off without a hitch and Mickey was pleased with his efforts and how his food was received. There had been an almost-moment when Ian had gushed about the pizza being the best he'd ever had and Mickey had made eye contact with Mandy, willing her not to make a sex joke. Other than that, Mickey found he had actually enjoyed himself – not that he was in a rush to host another one. He wasn't Martha fucking Stewart. Ian had left swiftly after dinner – both Mickey and the girls had let dessert slip their minds but by that point, they'd all had a reasonable amount of alcohol to not really give a shit. Mickey had seen him to the door, with the girls watching on and attempting to hold back drunken giggles.

“Thanks for inviting me.” Ian said with a smile on his face, his eyes were almost shimmering under the effect of the alcohol. Mickey wished like fuck that the girls had left first. “See you around, I guess.”

Mickey watched as Ian backed out of his door and stepped across the hall to his own, disappearing into it a moment later before Mickey couldn't even say goodbye. He let out the breath he'd been holding and shut the door. Grace and Mandy were standing directly behind him, watching as he surveyed the mess in his kitchen.

“We're off!” Grace said brightly, and moved towards the door. “Good job on the dinner. Shame you didn't get to fuck him.”

Mickey swatted her head but she ducked and missed it, grinning as she did so. “Get the fuck out.”

“Alright, alright. We're going. Did you ask him about Ned?” Mandy questioned; Mickey had had to talk her out of asking Ian about Ned herself. If it was even possible, she had less tact than he did.

“Yeah, he said he didn't know him.” Mickey told her and she shook her head. “Go home, you're drunk.”

“I am fucking not!” Mandy said hotly and he grinned. Grace pulled her out of the unit and he waved goodbye sarcastically.

The door shut and Mickey sat down at the table, taking in the empty bottles of wine and beer, dirty plates and leftover pizza. It was a fucking mess but he didn't have the energy to clean it now. He picked up his almost empty beer can and downed it, leaning down to rest his head on the table. Ian hadn't told him anything about Ned; Mickey briefly wondered why before he realised that Ian and Mickey didn't really know each other. Why would Ian share anything about his private life with Mickey? He sighed to himself. Crushes were no fun, he decided. Mickey had never experienced one before and he was disappointed so far with it. He felt down the majority of the time, and his whole evening had been spent either slyly watching Ian from the corner of his eye or making sure whatever Mickey was saying or doing made him look good. Although he was pleased with the time they'd spent together over the course of the dinner, Mickey was still nothing to him. They had no real connections – well, at least none that they were willing to open up about. Ian no doubt knew that Ned was Mickey's boss, but apart from that – they were just neighbours. Nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are much appreciated! Yev and Svetlana are in the next chapter :)
> 
> [Come hang with me!](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com)


	4. Step Four: Confusion is Totally Normal

The Friday after the dinner party, Ian came in to The Crafty Dog for lunch. Mickey was serving on the till and had agreed to stay later than his usual finish time of midday. He would work till two and then pick up Yevgeny; he couldn't wait to finish and see Yev. June had gone home sick and Grace was struggling to keep up with the orders so Ned had ordered Mickey onto the till so that he could help Mae cook, not that he really knew how. Mickey was halfway through serving someone when he spotted Ian walk in and join the queue. He avoided his eyes immediately – he didn't want to get flustered, now did he? The line of customers slowly dwindled until Ian was standing in front of him, the last person waiting to be served.

“Hey, Mickey.”

“What can I get you?” So friendly. Mickey mentally hit himself in the face and tried for a smile – something that didn't necessarily come naturally to him.

“Can I please have a vege wrap and a banana smoothie to go?” Ian asked, returning Mickey's smile. He handed over the cash and Mickey passed back his change. “Any more dinner parties coming up?”

Ian was joking and Mickey tried no to take it as a tease. “Nah, man. The stress of entertaining, you know.” Ian laughed at his weak attempt at a joke and Mickey watched his eyes light up. Fuck this guy and his stupid eyes.

“Fair enough.” Ian stood there awkwardly for a moment with his mouth half open, clearly wanting to say more, before Grace came over. Mickey could have sworn he saw disappointment in Ian's eyes. “Hey, Grace.”

“Ian! Can't keep away, hey?”

“Shouldn't you be making coffees?” Mickey muttered under his breath and received a kick to the shins behind the counter from Grace.

“I like the food here.” Ian said lamely and Grace grinned wickedly.

“I bet that's not all you like, aye?” She winked the most exaggerated wink Mickey had ever seen and he felt his cheeks blush; what was it about Ian that turned him into a teenage girl? He cracked his knuckles in an attempt to feel less like a 13 year old. Ian laughed awkwardly.

“I'm gonna take a seat.” Ian walked away and Mickey rounded on Grace.

“The fuck?!” He whispered furtively, aware of the customers sitting nearby. “You're such a tool sometimes, Gracie.”

“Shut up. He's into you. I can tell.”

“You can't tell shit. He's into Ned – that's why he comes here.” Mickey said, and as he spoke he realised what he was saying was incredibly true. Whatever this crush was on Ian, it had to stop. The redhead clearly had something going with Ned, and as disgusting as Mickey found it, it meant nothing would happen between him and Ian. The realisation that they would never be anything more than neighbours hit him hard. He shook his head. This was not like him. “Please, Grace – just leave it alone, okay?” She watched him speak, something along the lines of surprise flicking across her face but he ignored it. Mickey left Grace to deal with the mess that the rush of customers had caused and headed back towards the locker room. Thank fuck it was home time.

Perhaps, Mickey mused on his walk home, he should go out and get fucked by someone. If he didn't have Yev that weekend then he would have; it was definitely something he felt like he needed to get over whatever this had been with Ian. He was an idiot, really, to think that it was anything to do with him what Ian did with Ned. Aside from almost growing up together – and their siblings dating – they didn't know each other outside of a regular neighbourly relationship. Mickey felt like an idiot for even trying to get closer to Ian. What had he been expecting? That Ian would see Mickey as irresistible and drop Ned to bed Mickey immediately? Mickey snorted at how stupid the idea sounded in his head as he crossed the road, almost at his street. As he registered that his crush was over, and any hopes of bedding the almost too good to be true redhead across the hall were over, he still felt a curiosity towards whatever Ian's relationship with Ned was.

It was nothing to do with him, though. Mickey knew that. But it didn't stop him wondering what Ian saw in him, or what they did together besides the obvious. Mickey shook his head as his building came into view; that wasn't something he wanted to think about. Were all crushes like this? Did they flip you over and turn you inside out, leaving you feeling lost and unable to remember what life was like before you met this person? He felt like the intensity of what he was feeling towards Ian was much too strong too soon to be a regular crush but like fuck was it anything else. If there was one thing Mickey Milkovich didn't do, it was love.

It wasn't as hot today as it had been every other day that summer – Mickey had heard two customers talking about the possibility of a storm that evening and he quietly wished it would pour down. He loved the rain, and loved storms even more. His phone started to ring in his pocket and he pulled it out.

“Hey.”

“What time you pick up Yevgeny?”

“I'm great, thanks Svetlana. How are you?” Mickey mocked his ex – if you could call her that – but they both knew it was light-hearted. “Four okay with you?”

“Make it five. He's at a friends house. Be home around four and I want to see him before he go.”

“Got it. Anything to pass on?”

There was an audible sigh of frustration. “He is going to ask about Hunger Game movie. Non-stop, all day talking about this.”

“He rung me the other day to ask about it, too.” Mickey added in and Svetlana sighed over the phone again. 

“I told him Harry Potter for now – Hunger Game when he is older.”

“I'll tell him the same, then. You doing okay, Svet?” Mickey asked as he used his key to unlock his door. The unit was stuffy again, the impending storm making it humid and even as he opened the windows, he still felt too warm. He and Svetlana had a good relationship, now that they were older and away from the asshole that had brought them together. He flopped down on the couch and fanned his face with his hand.

“The usual. I work extra hours but no extra pay – I find new job soon. Maybe with Mandy in same daycare.” Svetlana worked in a daycare, the same one Yev had gone to when he was younger, but it had changed hands since then and the new manager was always causing her trouble. Mandy, however, worked in one two blocks over and had all sorts of job benefits. 

“You know Ned would probably give you a job if I asked him?”

“I won't work in a café, Mickey. I'm good with kids, not food.” Mickey was reminded of the time a year ago when he'd gotten really sick and was stuck in bed for two weeks; Yev had convinced his mum to cook a meal for Mickey. The dish had made him sicker than whatever illness he'd suffered from.

“Fair enough. Stick to your strengths and all that.”

“Anybody new in your life?” This woman could read him like a book; she'd known straight away that he was gay, and Mickey had appreciated it more than she'd ever know that Svetlana hadn't told his dad, but instead played along as his girlfriend for a short while before Mickey had grown some balls. She often lectured him about finding someone serious instead of the one night stands he was used to. She also had a knack for figuring out how he was feeling before he knew himself.

“Jesus, you're as bad as Mandy and Grace.”

“Woman has intuition. Who is he?”

“He is no one. He's already with someone.” Mickey explained, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He heard Svetlana laugh softly. “Shut up. I have the worst luck, I know.”

“Not that. I just never know a Milkovich to not get what he want.” She said goodbye after that, leaving him to mull over her words in the heat of the afternoon.

–

_Do you have Yev tonight?_

_Maybe. If I say yes are you going to be an annoying aunt all night?_

_Not all night. See you for dinner?_

_Do I have a choice?_

_See you tonight, Mickster!_

As annoying as Mandy could be, she was good to Yevgeny and Yev loved her. Mickey was secretly glad that they all got on despite the teasing; Svetlana, Mandy and Grace were like the three musketeers when they all got together and Mickey usually steered clear. He could only handle any two of them at once. Add Yev to the mix and it was like hell on earth for Mickey. His son was only too happy to switch sides and take the piss out of him with the girls. The kid was only seven but he already picked up on his mother's sarcasm, Grace's wit and Mandy's outright insulting nature – the three combined were going to make him one hell of a teenager.

“Dad!” Yevgeny had a way of whining that cut right to Mickey's last nerve. “I can't believe you're taking mum's side on this!”

“There are no sides, Yev. You're too young. End of story.” Mickey shot back. He hated using a stern voice with Yev – he tried to be the fun parent as often as he could – but sometimes the kid needed to know that Mickey was his dad as well as his friend. “Do you want to watch the third Harry Potter tonight?”

“Ugh!” The disgusted noise that came from Yev almost made Mickey laugh – his dramatics were the spitting image of Mandy when she was younger. “Is Aunt Mandy coming over?”

“Do you think I can keep her away?” Mickey said, more to himself. They had ordered Chinese takeaways – making sure to order enough for Mandy – and were slumped on the couch waiting for it, hot in the humidity of the early evening. “We don't have to watch Harry Potter. If you think you're getting too old for it...”

Yev chewed his lip for a moment and Mickey could see the battle going on his head; the kid wanted to be considered grown up enough to watch The Hunger Games but he loved Harry Potter. He'd read the first three books several times each and Svetlana had promised to take him to the Harry Potter theme park one day. He was wizard obsessed and Mickey had to laugh at the idea of him having a Harry Potter nerd for a son; a love of books and reading was not a common Milkovich trait. “I guess we can watch it. Aunt Mandy loves it and I don't want to upset her.”

Mickey snorted as there was a knock on the door and he stood up to answer it. He grabbed the cash he'd stashed in his pocket and paid the delivery guy, taking the food from him. He'd barely shut the door when it opened again; Mandy, with Grace trailing behind.

“I hope you have enough food because I'm starving.” Grace chirped as she passed by Mickey and made for the couch, pretending not to know Yev, who was grinning ear to ear. “Mickey, there's some weird kid on your couch.”

“Mickey, who is this guy? He's got a weird face.” Mandy joined in, sitting on the other side of Yev as Grace did the same. They started poking his sides and messing with his hair, sending the kid into fits of giggles. “Did you let him in here?”

“Aunt Mandy!” Yev let out, laughing harder as Grace began to full on tickle him now. Mickey set about getting the plates and cutlery out while the girls teased Yev. “It's me!! It's Yevgeny!”

“Yevgeny?! What kind of a name is that? Mickey, he doesn't even speak English.”

“Gracie!” Yevgeny called out, and Mickey watched Grace's eyes flash towards him; he shouldn't have taught Yev that nickname. “It's me!”

“Wait a minute – Mandy, I think this is Yev.” Grace put her face close to Yev, widening her eyes as she inspected him carefully. “Yev?”

“Yessss!” He hissed out, still giggling slightly while Mandy peered into his ear.

“I think it is Yev.” She commented, and then grinned widely, pulling Yev into a hug. “Lucky we figured it out! We were gonna eat your dinner and throw you out on the street!”

“You knew it was me, Aunt Mandy.” Yev's composure suddenly changed as he straightened up and pushed his hair out of his eyes, giving his Aunt and Grace a stern look. “I'm seven, you know. I'm not a baby.”

“Really? Huh. I guess that means no more trips out for ice cream – that's for kids, right Mandy?” Grace asked, shaking her head sadly. Mickey watched from the kitchen as Yev battled with himself again.

“Yep! And I think only kids get to stay up with takeaways and watch movies. What do you think Mickey?” Mandy turned to face Mickey who was dishing up the food equally onto each plate. 

“I think that if anyone wants to watch Harry Potter, they better set it up now because dinner is ready.” Yev jumped into action, retrieving the DVD from his bag and putting it into the player. Mickey exchanged smirks with the girls and they said no more, instead settling back into the couch and accepting their meals from Mickey. The movie started and all four were silent, eating as they watched the movie unfold. Yevgeny was entranced, his eyes never leaving the screen until he fell asleep fifteen minutes before it was due to finish. The rain had started outside and Mickey was quietly happy about it; he had always enjoyed storms. It was only light at the moment but if the clouds outside were anything to go by, it would soon be a lot heavier. The three adults carefully extracted themselves from the couch without waking Yevgeny and Mickey cleared the dishes into the kitchen.

“You seen Ian any more?” Mandy asked quietly as she stood by the door, ignoring Mickey's eye roll. “Seriously, he's so cute and a nice guy. I bumped into him the other day and we talked for ages. What are you waiting for?”

“Did you forget that he's into older dudes? One fucker in particular?”

“Look, you're my brother and I love you. I guess -” She took a deep breath, one hand on her chest like what she was about to say was causing her great pain, which it probably was. “I guess you're not that bad looking.”

“Wow, thanks.” Mickey said dully, rolling his eyes for the second time at Mandy. Grace stood back watching the pair of them talk, a small smirk on her face. 

“Why aren't you pushing this, Mickey? You're better looking than your sleaze of a boss, and I'm sure in some ways you're a nicer person than he is.” Mickey opened his mouth to retort angrily before Grace spoke first.

“Because he's scared.” She piped up, her voice small as she looked between the two Milkoviches. Mandy's face went white and she turned to stare at Grace, her expression indescribable. “He's scared because he wants something more than a one night thing, more than what you're used to – and it's not even at that point yet. You're too scared to take the first step.”

“I'm not fucking scared!” Mickey said hotly, his voice rising and they all froze as Yevgeny stirred on the couch. A moment later, his heavy breathing resumed and they relaxed. Mickey rounded on his friend whose eyes were flicking between him and Mandy. “Fuck off, Grace. I'm not fucking scared. I'm fucking gay and I'm a fucking Milkovich – I don't do scared.”

“Milkovich or not, you're scared. And you aren't going to get anywhere like that.” With that, she turned and walked out, the siblings left staring at each other. Mandy visibly softened, resting a hand on Mickey's arm.

“Sort your shit. You deserve more than random guys whose names you aren't even sure of, Mick. You deserve to be happy, after all that you've been through.”

Uncomfortable with the sudden closeness between them, Mickey shook off her hand roughly and ran his own hand through his hair. “I've got Yev. He makes me happy.”

Mandy smiled in a way that made Mickey want to shrivel up into a ball; she felt sorry for him, and while he appreciated her concern, it made him feel awkward. “You deserve more. Don't deny yourself that.”

–

Mandy's words stuck with Mickey right through the night; he didn't sleep, not much anyway. The storm rolled in not long after midnight and he'd stayed awake to watch the lightening out the window, enjoying the way it lit up the whole room. The thunder almost shook the house and Mickey was surprised it didn't wake Yev – the kid was a heavy sleeper. Ian drifted in and out of his mind throughout the storm, and even afterwards when he eventually settled back down to try and sleep. He went back and forth between the two possible actions – ignore the fuck out of this 'crush' until it went away, or fight for what he apparently wanted. It ate at him, and the result was a night of tossing and turning rather than sleeping. He knew he wanted Ian; he'd known that since he'd first seen him. Mickey didn't do relationships, he didn't do lovey dovey shit, but he could appreciate when a guy looked good and fuck, Ian looked fucking good. Good enough that Mickey thought about him a lot, and couldn't help but imagine what it would like to be with him.

And here was what fucked Mickey up the most: he didn't just imagine fucking him, he imagined being with Ian in other ways. Watching a movie, cooking, playing board games with Yev. It was fucked, and Mickey hated that he felt weak for feeling this way. He'd long come to terms with being gay, but it hadn't been an easy road getting there. Weakness was one of the many things it'd made him feel in the beginning, and he hated that this crush was taking him right back there again, in a warped way. He'd done a google search – and branded himself lame at the same time – and apparently shit like this was common with crushes. He wasn't imagining fucking weddings or having kids – that was a few steps too far – but fuck, he wanted to be more than neighbours with this idiot with red hair. And Mickey hated red hair.

“Dad?” Yevgeny's sleepy voice filtered out from under the covers, and Mickey peered over the edge of the bed at where Yev was sleeping in the pull-out bed. A year before he'd been upset that he slept in with his dad when he stayed over; they'd gone out together and found a bed that fit under Mickey's bed when Yev wasn't there. He was rubbing his eyes and staring up, a small smile on his face. “Did you hear the thunder last night?”

“Hard not to. You sleep okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Want pancakes for breakfast? We could eat 'em outside. Might be a bit cooler?”

Yevgeny's grin was enough. Mickey climbed out of bed and found an old t-shirt with one too many holes and his track pants. Yev stayed in bed, curling under the covers and no doubt falling back asleep – the kid could sleep for years. Mickey padded into the kitchen and set to work. Pancakes were one of his favourite things to make as they were easy and didn't need too many ingredients – he couldn't understand people who unnecessarily complicated things. Flour, eggs, sugar, milk. Not much to it, really. Before he started cooking his first one, he pulled out the maple syrup and plates and set them on the table. The smell of cooking pancakes was clearly enough to rouse Yevgeny from his slumber. He came walking into the kitchen a moment later, yawning and rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Dad, did you know that I'm one of the only kids in my class at school that hasn't seen The Hunger Games?” Yev started, his expression telling Mickey that he knew what reply he was going to get.

“Looks like someone doesn't want pancakes.”

“Come on, dad! It's so unfair!”

Mickey ignored him, a small grin on his face, as he flipped the last pancake and listened to the sound of the batter sizzling in the pan. He loved cooking breakfast for Yev; it was something he'd missed out on in his own childhood – most of the time, anyway – and, if he was honest with himself, he did it for himself as much as his son. With the last pancake on the stack, he gestured for Yev to pick up the plates and syrup, and they made their way out the back. The backyard was empty, save for a few birds, and Mickey and Yev sat down at the small table to eat.

“Why won't you and mum let me watch it?” Yev demanded with a mouthful of pancakes, a frown on his small face.

“It's violent.” Mickey shrugged, his own mouth full. Yev paused, his next mouthful sitting on his fork in front of his mouth. “What?”

“Ryan at school told me...he told me that you and my uncles used to be violent. To people.” 

Mickey sighed deeply, putting his fork down and shaking his head slightly; he was wondering how long it would take before his last name caught up with Yevgeny. He took a deep breath. “Remember I told you about my dad? And how he was a bad man?”

Yevgeny nodded, his own pancakes forgotten temporarily while Mickey spoke. “Yeah. Ryan talked about him, too.”

“He was horrible, Yev. A really nasty person, and Mandy, and me, and Iggy - all of your uncles – we grew up thinking that that was the right way to behave. But it's not.” Mickey said carefully, not entirely sure how to approach the topic. “Ryan might know some stories about our family but that's all they are now – stories, okay? You shouldn't care what people say about us because it's not true any more.”

“Okay.” And it was that simple, apparently. This kid took everything on board and accepted it without a worry. There'd been a tricky conversation a few months ago when Yevgeny had asked Mickey why he never had a girlfriend; Mickey had explained with careful detail that his dad didn't like girls, but boys instead. He'd gotten the same response from that conversation. “What are we gonna do today?”

“Well, Grace wanted to take you somewhere – Ruff and Tumble.” The words were barely out of Mickey's mouth and Yev's face lit up with excitement at the prospect of visiting the new adventure playground.

“Really? We're going?” He asked and Mickey nodded, watching as Yev finished his plate of pancakes. He loved these moments when Yev was unapologetically a child; Mickey didn't want him growing up faster than he already was. If Yevgeny was anything like Mickey had been as a teenager...well, fuck. They were in for a ride.

“Oh, sorry. I didn't know anyone was out here.”

Yev smiled at someone above Mickey's head and the latter turned around, inwardly groaning at his luck. Ian.

“It's okay, man. We're done.” Mickey said. Yev stood up abruptly, looking between Mickey and Ian.

“I'm Yevgeny.” This kid could be so forward and confident sometimes. He moved forward and held his hand out to Ian, waiting patiently for Ian to shake it. When he did, Yev stood back and stared up at Ian. “You're really tall.”

“I think you're just impressed because Mickey is really short.” Ian teased and Yev laughed, clearly already smitten with Ian.

“He's my dad. And he is pretty short!”

“Alright, alright.” Mickey mumbled, stacking the plates together noisily.

“Dad, can I watch the last of Prisoner of Azkaban?” Yev asked, his eyes wide as he waited for an answer.

“Harry Potter? Nice. Who is your favourite character?” Ian questioned, and Yev was clearly impressed that Ian knew what Harry Potter was. Mickey made a mental note to remind Yev that there weren't many people who didn't know who Harry Potter was.

“I like Ron. His hair is like yours!” Yev realised suddenly, grinning up at Ian. He turned back to Mickey, impatient now. “Dad, can I?”

“Go on, then.” He was off in a shot, leaving Mickey with the dishes.

“He's cute.” Mickey looked up at Ian, searching his face for any judgement or confusion about the fact that Yev was his. There was nothing but a smile there. Ian sat down opposite him and Mickey relaxed back into his seat slightly. “You mind if I sit?”

Mickey gestured for him to go ahead, though he was already sitting. “You not working this weekend?”

“Nope. Thought I'd come out here and enjoy the sun before it heats up too much.” Ian lifted his head back towards the building. “He's a sweet kid.”

“When he wants to be.” Mickey scoffed, and then softened. “He's great.”

“I – uh – I wanted to ask you something.” Ian started, his eyes flitting away from Mickey but he was grinning slightly. “I didn't wanna say anything at yours the other night in front of your sister and Grace but – you, um, you called me pretty. At the bar the other night.”

Shit. “Shit.”

Ian laughed good-naturedly. “You make a habit of calling guys pretty?” He was watching Mickey carefully, and Mickey had the sense that Ian was trying to work him out. It's not like Mickey had a sign with 'gay' written on it on his forehead, but Ian had to realise that Mickey didn't walking around calling every good looking guy 'pretty'.

“Not unless I feel the need.” He replied, locking eyes with Ian as the latter stared. “I guess I felt the need.”

The silence felt weird; Mickey felt as if they'd crossed a line. There was no denying any attraction on Mickey's part, now, and he wished Ian would give him some sort of sign that he maybe felt something in return. There'd been weird flirting-not-flirting between them but nothing concrete. They stared at each other now, each trying to work the other out.

“I guess you did.” Ian said stupidly, and Mickey looked away, disappointed that there was nothing further from him. “I don't blame you, though.”

Ian's eyes were twinkling mischievously and Mickey relaxed a little, pleased with the exchange. “You've got a good memory; you must handle your drink well, for a Harry Potter nerd.”

“Hey, man. You can't tell me you aren't getting into it a little bit?” Ian laughed, tipping his head back slightly and Mickey grinned over at him. “It's a classic.”

“I was never a reader when I was younger but the movies aren't half bad when I'm forced to watch them.” Mickey spoke before growing quiet, thinking of his dad. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yeah?”

Mickey sighed deeply, looking away and out to the garden; this wasn't going to be easy. “Yeah, man. I should have mentioned it sooner but – if your brother hasn't told you already, or you haven't figured it out...my dad, uh, my dad – he was the one -”

“I know who he was.” Mickey was glad Ian had cut him off; he wasn't quite sure how to delicately say 'my dad beat the shit out of because he himself is a walking piece of shit.' “I figured it out. And Lip told me.”

Mickey resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of fucking course Lip said something. He dragged his eyes back to Ian, surprised to see a small smile on his face. “I – I'm sorry. For what he did.”

“Nothing you need to apologise for, man. It was a long time ago and it was nothing to do with you.” Ian said, each word taking another weight off of Mickey's shoulders. Mickey breathed out a sigh, looking away and feeling the relief wash through him. “I've gotta ask though – he can't have taken it well when you...”

“No. No, he fucking didn't.” Mickey left it there, not really wanting to get into a heart to heart about coming out and his dad so early in the morning. Ian glanced away and then back to Mickey, rubbing his neck nervously.

“Since we're confessing things here...”

“Yeah?” Mickey said sharply, suddenly nervous; the fuck was this about?

“When you asked me who I was with at the bar the other night. I wasn't totally honest with you.” Mickey braced himself for what was to come, what he already knew. “It was your boss. Ned.”

Mickey didn't reply; instead, he nodded slowly and waited for Ian to continue. He wasn't sure whether to launch straight into his presentation of why Ned was a Bad Idea. Mickey didn't know Ian enough but clearly the guy knew what he wanted. Even if that was creepy old men.

“I met him the same day I met you, just later at a bar. He...he's nice. He buys me nice things.” Ian shrugged now and Mickey stared openly; that was all it took to get into Ian's good books? Jesus. Ian shrugged again. “I don't know why I'm telling you this. It just weighed on my mind ever since I lied to you about it.”

“Don't worry about it. We don't know each other – you don't owe me nothing.” Mickey said sharply, standing up and picking up the plates. Ian frowned as he looked up towards him.

“We know each other a little.”

“Yeah, my dad beat the shit out of you and you're dating my boss – that's kind of the relationship we have, Gallagher.” Mickey made to head back inside, but Ian put his hand on Mickey's arm, stopping him in his tracks. Mickey adjusted the dishes in his arms. “The fuck?”

“Do you want to know me more, Milkovich?” Again, with the confusing flirting-not-flirting thing. Mickey ran his free thumb over his bottom lip slowly and watched Ian's eyes follow the movement.

“Maybe. If you hadn't met my prick of a boss first.”

He shrugged himself out of Ian's grasp and made his way awkwardly inside with the dishes Yevgeny had left behind. He felt his cheeks reddening and it frustrated him; Ian got under his skin and knew how to work him with only a few words. Of course Mickey wanted to fucking know him; he wanted to know every inch of that idiot. As he reached his front door, he heard a noise behind him and saw Ian rushing inside after him.

“Mick – go for a drink with me next week. Bring your friends if you want. Just...come out with me.” Ian said slightly breathlessly, catching up to where Mickey stood. The casual shortening of his name irked him for no other reason other than the fact that it turned Mickey on. He looked Ian up and down and arranged his face into his best sarcastic smile.

“Only if you promise to never call me Mick again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely people! The next chapter may take me a little longer - it's xmas this week, plus I just learnt to drop in on the skate ramp and it's maybe my new favourite thing and I wanna do it all the time. I won't forget about you, though! Especially not with all the lovely comments you leave me? :) Chapter 5 will be up in no time!
> 
>  
> 
> [Say hello!](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com)


	5. Step Five: Creepy Elephants Will Only Complicate First Kisses

Agreeing to going out for a drink with Ian had been a bad idea. Mickey knew that. He had no idea what Ned would say if he pieced it all together, or what he would do to Mickey. But he also knew that constantly going back and forth between wanting to act on his feelings and not wanting to was slowly sending him insane, and he'd resolved to just see where the drink took them. Ian had insisted on giving Mickey his number so that they could set up a time – Mickey had wanted to remind Ian that their front doors were no more than three feet apart but the thought of Ian having his number made something in his chest do flips. Grace's birthday was the following weekend and they'd arranged to have a drink before going to hers; she had of course invited Ian, too. Mickey wasn't sure whether to look forward to it or be scared at what Grace or Mandy might do.

Work had been quiet the last week and Mae had been letting him cook more in the kitchen. She'd taught him a few different tricks for prepping vegetables faster and had even let him cook a few of the orders when it'd been quiet. Mae had surprised Mickey on Wednesday afternoon with more knowledge about Ned.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. He is slowly running this place into the ground. He asks me to go over 'the books' – he doesn't even know what that means – and I see it all. He orders too much, owes too much.” Mae shrugged, turning off the element they'd been using and setting the pan of vegetables on the bench nearby. She glanced around before leaning closer to Mickey who was listening intently. “I'm thinking of waiting until it's really in trouble and then buying it; I have some money saved.”

“Really? I'd much rather you as my boss than Ned.” Mickey said honestly and Mae grinned at him. “He tell you any more about his toy?”

“Bits and pieces. He really likes this one, though. Why do you ask?” She questioned and Mickey shrugged his shoulders.

“No reason.”

Mae didn't seem too concerned over his sudden interest and rubbed her hands together. They'd just finished cooking the vegetables for the vegetable lasagne that would be cooked the following day. “You've done great today. We'll see what it's like tomorrow but I might let you take charge over lunch if it's not too busy. Sound good?” 

Mickey grinned widely, grateful for the opportunity and the fact that Mae didn't give a shit about his upbringing or the tattoos on his fingers; he wanted to cook, and that was all that mattered to her. He waved goodbye and went to collect his things from his locker. There was a text waiting for him on his phone.

_Came in to the Dog but didn't see you. Busy tonight?_

It was from Ian, and Mickey was sure the giddiness he felt was nothing to do with the fact that Ian had text him out of the blue. Surely not. No. He sent back a response, sitting down on the bench in front of his locker.

_I've been out back all day. What's up?_

_I know we're going out for a drink on the weekend, but I wondered if you wanted to watch a movie tonight. It's my night off and I don't feel like going out._

Mickey stared at the message, not really sure what he was reading. Was Ian asking him out on a date? Or was this just something that neighbours did? And by 'going out' did he mean going out with Ned? He chewed through the thought for a moment before replying.

_Bring beer. See you at six._

“Aren't you usually out of here as soon as the clock strikes five?” Ned's drawl wiped the smile that was sitting on Mickey's face clean off; the older man stood in front of Mickey with a frown on his face and his arms folded. “You look pleased with yourself.”

Mickey shrugged, not wanting to get into a conversation as to why he was in a good mood all of a sudden; they had much more in common than Ned realised. He raised an eyebrow at his boss, a thought occurring to him. “You doing anything tonight, Ned?”

The man looked visibly annoyed, sighing gruffly and shaking his head. “I was going to treat myself but my...friend has made other plans.” Friend. A step up from toy, Mickey thought.

“Shame.”

“You know, Mickey, it is a shame. He's so pretty and we had plans but apparently work is getting in the way – how unfair is that?” Ned paused, his eyes glazing over slightly as he thought. Mickey stared at him, trying his best not to let his distaste show. “I suppose I could offer to pay for his company – that way he wouldn't be out of pocket.”

“So...like a sex worker?” Mickey said dryly, picking his things up and attempting to make it obvious that he wanted to leave. Ned still stood in front of him, just in his way that Mickey would have to push past him to leave.

“Oh, Mickey. You have no idea, do you?” Ned laughed stupidly, tipping his head back as if Mickey was the most hilarious sight he'd ever seen. “This one likes my company. This one is different to all the others. I'm sure me offering to pay for his time would make him feel a lot better.”

Mickey had had enough. He pushed past Ned roughly, muttering something about meeting someone, and stalked out of the café. The guy was a walking joke, an affront to everyone he met and Mickey was unsure how the man had gotten so far in life, let alone managed to get married and have children, especially when he obviously didn't give two shits about his wife. One of his sons, Jimmy, had tried working in the café not long after Mickey had started but the prick didn't last long; he and Grace liked to joke about him now and then, and the incident that had been the final straw. Jimmy had been working in the kitchen and Mae had asked him to clean out the oven; she failed to mention – and Mickey is certain she did it on purpose – that she'd accidentally (on purpose?) spilled oil that had then hardened. The job took him well over two hours, but that was mostly because Grace and Mickey had watered down all of the cleaning products. It was a petty prank but they'd grown tired of Jimmy's pompous attitude and it had worked; he'd quit the next day. 

Mickey arrived home, his irritable mood slowly disappearing as he realised he was about to spend the evening with Ian without Mandy or Grace getting in the way. His heart rate increased slightly; he would have to play this cool, if he even knew how to do that. He didn't want anything to happen – well, in a way. He wanted to jump Ian as soon as he walked through the door but he he had no idea where Ian was coming from. Plus there was the small problem of Ian dating his boss. A quick tidy of his unit and he was happy; it looked reasonably tidy. He sat on the couch and waited.

Twenty minutes filled with several scenarios as to how the evening would pan out later, there was a knock at the door. Mickey got up and pulled it open, standing back to let Ian in. They muttered a hello, and Mickey took the beer from Ian. They took one each before putting the box in the fridge; Mickey gestured for Ian to sit on the couch. Not awkward at all.

“What movie did you bring, man?” Mickey asked, sitting down the opposite end of the couch to Ian for fear that his body would betray him if he sat any closer.

“Shaun of The Dead.”

“Don't you mean Dawn of The Dead?” Mickey asked, raising an eyebrow and Ian grinned over at him. “The zombie one, right?”

“Nope. It's a piss-take of it. You seen Hot Fuzz?” Mickey shook his head. “Ah, oh well. Same guys did that one. It's a good one – promise.” Ian climbed down onto the floor and put the DVD into the player while Mickey set the TV up with the remote. There was the sound of a phone and Mickey glanced at Ian as the latter looked down at his phone. His face contorted and he let out a harsh laugh.

“Uh – everything okay?” Mickey asked cautiously, skipping the ads now playing on the TV in front of them. Ian was furiously typing on his phone, his eyebrows knitted together in anger and Mickey faced the TV again, waiting to press play.

“I just – ugh!” Ian let out another noise of disgust, tossing his phone onto the couch. It immediately began to ring and he picked it up, pressed ignore and shut it off. He sat back, staring at nothing before shaking his head and turning to Mickey. “Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” Mickey paused for a second before deciding to ask. “All good?”

“Not really.” Ian said bluntly before he shook his head again. “Just...Ned. He's a fucking idiot.”

Mickey nodded, confirming what he'd suspected; Ned had clearly gone through with his not-so-clever plan of offering to pay Ian for his time. “I could have told you that.”

Ian's eyes flashed angrily for a second and Mickey panicked, but a moment later Ian softened. “Is he an asshole at work?”

“Ned is an asshole wherever he goes.” Mickey stated and Ian laughed loudly; Mickey found that he liked the sound. “Grace and I mess him around sometimes, just for the hell of it.”

“I can see Grace doing something like that.” Ian said, still laughing slightly. “She's – uh – she's convinced we're meant to be, you know? Fate or something, she said.”

Mickey rolled his eyes dramatically and made a mental note to kill Grace the next chance he got. Ian was watching him carefully, as if gauging his reaction and it made Mickey uncomfortable. Grace took any chance she could to talk to Mickey about Ian. “She talk to you about that? Just ignore her. She wants me to date someone who she gets on with, too.”

Ian shifted closer slightly on the couch, settling in and indicating for Mickey to press play. “And what's wrong with the guys you date now?”

“Probably the fact that I don't date anyone.” Mickey said honestly, quietly wondering what it was about Ian that brought this out in him; he felt like a different person, like he wanted nothing more than to impress Ian and make him proud. He pressed play on the DVD and settled down on the couch; he was a few feet away from Ian, but with the way they were both sitting, he could almost touch him. The movie began and they were silent, their eyes fixed forward. For the first fifteen minutes, they watched the movie in silence. Mickey wasn't paying much attention – the movie had made him laugh once or twice but he was more concerned with the fact that Ian kept fiddling with his phone – which he'd switched back on – or shifting in his seat, slouching down or sitting up straight. The fucker couldn't sit still and it was distracting. Just as they spotted the first zombie in the whole movie, Ian sighed to himself and moved slightly closer, putting his phone in his lap.

“Dude, what the fuck? Do you wanna watch this or not?” Mickey demanded, hitting the pause button and facing Ian.

“I'm sorry – I'm just worked up about this whole Ned thing. Do you want another beer?” He asked and Mickey nodded, watching Ian move into his kitchen as if he lived there. Mickey ignored the idea that prickled at the edge of his brain; thoughts of Ian living there with him were pushed aside. Ian handed the bottle over and sat down, even closer this time. Mickey swallowed, forcing himself not to blush or say something stupid. “He offered to pay me – to spend time with him. Can you believe that?”

“I kind of can – he suggested it to me today.”

“Are you kidding me? You guys talk about me?” Ian asked, his eyes wide and Mickey shook his head quickly.

“Fuck no. He has no idea we even know each other; that's the kind of person he is. He talks about you a lot and was shitty he couldn't spend time with you tonight. Said he was going to give you money.” Mickey told Ian, watching Ian's face turn angry again. “Uh – can I ask – what you see in him?”

Ian sighed loudly, taking a long swig from his drink before answering. “He's my type, I guess you'd say. He likes to look after me and buy me things. Shit – that makes me sound shallow.”

Mickey put his hands up. “Nah, man. I get it.” But really, he fucking didn't; his type? Mickey had no chance. So what was this watch a movie and go for a drink thing, then? He hit play and ignored Ian, focusing on the movie instead. They were barely five minutes in when Mickey was aware of Ian staring at him. He turned slowly to look at him, his eyebrows raised. “Can I help you?”

“Do you ever wonder if Grace is right?”

“Look, Gallagher. You chase me down and ask me out for a drink, you wanna watch movies together like a pair of teenage girls having a slumber party and now you're asking if I think Grace is right about us being meant for each other? The fuck is going on? Did you forget that you're dating my boss?” Mickey ranted without much thought as to what he was saying, choosing not to notice the confused look on Ian's face.

“No, I didn't, I just -”

“Here's the deal, man. I don't date guys. I don't do relationships. Something about you...” Mickey paused, irritated at himself for what he was about to say. “You make me want that shit. But you're with Ned. And I'm not about to get sucked into that mess, okay? So you coming over here with beers and a movie is great and all, but fuck...at least be clear about where you're coming from.”

Ian stared, his mouth slightly open. Mickey shook his head roughly, annoyed with how open he'd just been; he never said more than a few words to guys he was into, but then he'd never been into anyone like this before. Before he knew what was happening, Ian was moving closer; Mickey felt the sweat on his hands immediately and had the odd feeling of watching the whole scene on a TV screen. He knew what was about to happen before it did; Ian moved in, his eyes closing and at the exact moment their lips were about to touch, his phone rung. Loud and harsh in their ears, Ian pulled back, swearing under his breath. Mickey knew who it was already; Ian picked up his phone and Ned's sleazy face grinned up from the screen, as if he knew what had been about to happen.

“Shit, sorry.” Ian muttered, silencing the phone and running his hand through his hair. Mickey felt his cheeks burning and stood up abruptly.

“You should go.”

“What – no -”

“I'll see you on the weekend at Grace's party.” Mickey left the room and headed for his bedroom, his fists clenched at his sides as he paced the small space in his room. He heard Ian sigh and then a moment later he heard his front door open and close. Mickey slumped onto his bed and let out a breath; what a fucking mess. Well, the only thing he got out of this was the fact that he now knew how Ian felt towards him. But the thing that fucked him up the most was that Ian was still with Ned – and didn't show any signs of stopping whatever weird relationship they seemed to have. 

–

The following day at work made it clear that Ian and Ned had made up; Ned came strolling into the kitchen, whistling and singing to himself. Mickey wanted to punch the smile right off of his face. Grace followed him in and after asking Mae about the specials for the day, she set her sights on Ned.

“You're in a good mood, Ned!” She chirped brightly and Mickey snorted to himself, watching the interaction from the sink where he was washing the pot Mae needed. “You wake up on the right side of the bed?”

Ned let out a long laugh, his white teeth blinding them all. Grace flicked Mickey a grin. “You could say that, Grace! I got to spend the night with my favourite person.”

“How is Candace? I haven't seen her in here for ages!” Grace replied, her smile never wavering and Mickey paused, his hands frozen in the soapy water as he watched Ned's face go from pure bliss to white hot anger.

“Don't you have work to do instead of standing in here talking? Get the specials up and go serve!” He barked and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving Grace grinning to herself. Mickey shook his head.

“You're asking for it, you know.” He piped up and she danced over to him, her smile wide. “He's gonna have it in for you now, Gracie.”

“Shut the fuck up. I don't care – the way I see it, the angrier I make him, the more likely he'll take it out on Ian and Ian will leave him so that you two can ride off into the sunset on a white horse and get married and have babies together and live happily ever after.” Mickey stared at her. “Come on, it's a foolproof plan!”

“It's the dumbest fucking plan I've ever heard.” Mickey said dully and Grace swatted at his arm. “Don't you have work to do?”

“Ned seems to forget that we don't open for another ten minutes; there's no one out there.”

Mickey glanced around and saw Mae on the phone to a supplier, a clipboard and pen in her other hand. He turned back to Grace and wiped his wet hands on the nearby dish towel. “Ian came over last night.”

“What? Wait – but wasn't he with Ned last night?” Grace asked, her face confused. Mickey explained the whole evening, and how Ian no doubt went off to be with Ned after Mickey had told him to leave. “He was going to kiss you?! Mickey! Why didn't you let him?”

“Oh, gee, Grace. Let me think. Maybe because he's dating Ned and I do not want any part of that giant clusterfuck. Can you imagine what Ned would say if he found out?” Mickey whispered furtively, and Grace nodded, leaning against the bench. “I think it's best if I just leave it alone now.”

“Uh huh. And can you do that?” Her hands were on her hips and she was giving Mickey a look that indicated no, Mickey could not leave it alone. “Because last I checked, you never got this far in with anyone. You like him, Mickey. And he clearly likes you or he wouldn't have tried to kiss you!”

“So what if I do? There's nothing I can do about it. And can you keep your fucking voice down?!” Mickey demanded, glancing around again; Mae was still on the phone and Ned was nowhere to be seen, no doubt sulking in his office.

“You deserve more than this! Ned doesn't deserve shit – you know he'll be done with Ian in a few months, anyway.” Grace whispered back, her eyes darting around the kitchen. 

“Jesus, you sound like Mandy.”

“Yeah, we've been talking and we both think you're an idiot.” She replied bluntly, standing up straight. Mickey went back to washing the pot in the sink, setting it on the bench to drain.

“Well, that's no surprise.”

“Sort your shit, Mickey.” 

Hadn't Mandy said that to him just last week? He shook his head and watched Grace walk away. He knew she was right but he was in no way ready to admit that to her face yet. Mickey only knew that he was going to make a move on Ian, and this time Ned wasn't going to get in the way.

–

Grace's party was in full swing by the time Mickey arrived. Ian had text the day before saying that he couldn't make their drink beforehand due to work – Mickey wondered how much of it was to do with their almost-kiss earlier in the week – and that he would instead catch up with Mickey at the party. Mickey arrived right on time – or so he'd thought. Grace's house was already packed with people, most of them were people Mickey had never seen before. He moved through the bodies, searching for any sign of familiarity when he finally spotted Mandy hanging out in the lounge, a smirk on her face as she watched a couple trying to dance in their apparent drunken state.

“Hey, where's Grace? This place is packed.”

“She's around somewhere; she just left to get me a drink. How goes it little bro?” Mandy asked and Mickey raised an eyebrow at her. She shrugged. “I'm already a little drunk.”

“Clearly. You know any of these people?”

“Not really – Grace is more your friend than mine.” Mandy stated, a weird smile on her face.

“I guess.” Mickey shrugged and glanced around the room, scanning the faces for Ian. He saw a flash of red but it was merely the brightly coloured top of one of Grace's many friends. A moment later Grace appeared in the doorway, two beers in her hands and a smile on her face as she moved through her friends towards them. “Happy birthday, Gracie!”

“Hey now, it's my birthday. You can't pick on me like that.” She pouted, handing a beer to Mandy who took a swig immediately. “Where's my present?”

“You're looking at it. I'm here, aren't I?” He looked around the room again. “This is like my idea of hell; way too many people.”

“You'll get over it, Mickster.” Mandy quipped and Mickey turned back towards the girls. As it was the most normal thing in the world, Grace was sliding her arm around Mandy's waist and his sister was resting her head on Grace's shoulder. Mandy smirked. “Oh, yeah. We haven't told him yet.”

In a single second, every weird moment between the two girls the last few weeks – the awkward silences, pointed stares and comments – fell into place. Shit – maybe they were kissing that night Mickey had gotten drunk. They were grinning at him, watching him piece it all together. “Making moves on my sister, Gracie? You could have told me first.”

“If you weren't so blind, you would have seen it coming.” Grace retorted back and Mickey shook his head. Mandy was watching him carefully, waiting for his reaction.

“You two are perfectly suited to each other.” He said plainly, rolling his eyes. “You're both as nasty as each other.”

Mandy visibly relaxed and Mickey sent a quick smile her way; she was clearly worried about what he would think about her dating his best friend. “Hey, isn't that Ian?”

Mickey's stomach flipped over as he turned and spotted Ian heading towards them, a girl with long red hair in tow. Mickey recognised her from the day Ian moved in; no doubt Ian's sister. They pushed through a group of four guys comparing tattoos and stood in front of Mickey and the girls, smiling. For a moment no one spoke; everyone smiled weirdly at each other.

“Thanks for coming!” Grace suddenly burst out, leaning forward to hug Ian in what Mickey thought was a much too personal way. 

“Thanks for inviting me. This is my sister, Debbie - she knows more people here than I do.” Ian said, all too obviously avoiding Mickey's gaze as he joked. The girls smiled at the two redheads.

“Hey.” Debbie said quietly, blushing slightly as all eyes landed on her. She was a little younger than Mandy but old enough to be there without looking out of place. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Hey, everyone is welcome. Drinks are in the kitchen.” Grace replied, her smile wide.

“I'll go get us a drink, Debs.” Ian said and followed Grace and Mandy who were showing him the way. Debbie and Mickey stood there awkwardly, both without a drink in their hands and looking for something to talk about. Debbie spoke first, saving Mickey from bringing up an awkward topic like the weather.

“How do you know Grace?” She asked, pulling her phone out of her pocket and fiddling with it.

“Ah, I work with her. We're good friends.” Mickey said carefully. Did she realise who he was? Who his father was?

“Are you Mickey?” Debbie asked bluntly, fixing him with a stare. “I only ask because my brother told me about someone called Mickey.”

Fucking Lip. “Look, my dad was an asshole and I wish it hadn't happened but -”

“What? What are you talking about? Ian told me about someone called Mickey, someone who lives in his building.” She explained, raising an eyebrow at his outburst.

“Oh. Yeah. That's me.” Mickey said stupidly, shuffling his feet and looking around the room for Grace or Mandy. Debbie did the same before turning back to Mickey.

“We talk a lot, and lately all he can talk about is you.”

Before Mickey could ask any more, Ian and the girls appeared at their sides, drinks in hand. Debbie gave him a pointed look and mumbled something about spotting a friend. She disappeared into the crowd a moment later and Ian watched her go. A moment later, he followed her. Mickey had no idea what to think.

Grace and Mandy were now apparently inseparable; for the rest of the evening wherever Grace went, there was Mandy. Mickey was happy for them – the more he thought about it, the more he realised this had been coming for a long time. There'd been so many moments between the two that he wondered how he'd missed it for that long. He hung out mostly with Mandy when he could; he knew a few of Grace's friends, but not well enough to talk to them. If Mickey was honest with himself, he was counting down till it was socially acceptable for him to get the fuck out of there. He saw Ian a few times through the night but he seemed to know everyone – every time Mickey saw him, he was chatting animatedly with someone different. Fucking social butterfly.

If it was possible, when it hit midnight the party seemed to get even busier. It was nearing the point where Mickey couldn't take it any more and he found himself sitting on a couch in the corner of the lounge with an empty beer in one hand and a scowl on his face. He figured he'd wait for Grace to head over to him and make his excuses to leave. The room was packed with people dancing or what looked to Mickey like auditioning for a porno. Sometimes, he just really hated people. He watched Grace and Mandy dancing together, smiles on both their faces and it only made him feel sad; Mandy had done what he couldn't. He was fucking scared. And a little drunk.

“Why are you sitting on your own?” Ian sat down next to him, a little too close for comfort, and handed him a new drink. Mickey accepted it and took a long swig, burping loudly. “Well, aren't you pleasant?”

“I'm a fucking delight.” Mickey snorted, laughing slightly at his own joke. Ian grinned as Mickey tried to work out how drunk they both were. “Where's your sister?”

“She left – she got bored.”

They were silent for a moment, each staring out at the people in front of them. Mickey shifted on the couch so that he was facing Ian. “You didn't get bored? I can't imagine you know many people here.”

“I'm good at making conversation with people I don't know. Plus, I know you.” Ian said pointedly.

“You've been avoiding me all night!” Mickey pointed out and Ian laughed, turning slightly to face Mickey. They were too close; Mickey was worried as to what would happen but then he remembered his resolve to make a move on Ian. He sat up straighter, clearing his throat. “You didn't bring your boyfriend tonight?”

“Ah, no. Not really his scene, you know.” Ian replied, a look Mickey couldn't place crossing his face. “Why do you always bring him up?”

“Because he's like the creepy elephant in the room. I can't -” Anything Mickey said that didn't go down well, he could blame on the drink. He took a breath and continued. Fuck it. “I can't make a move on you if you're with him.”

If it was possible, Ian shifted closer. Their legs were touching, their arms both rested on the back of the couch and if Mickey lifted a finger, he could touch Ian's hand. It reminded him of earlier in the week when they'd had an almost moment; he wanted it to go a different way this time. “So you want to make a move on me?”

“I'm not saying that.”

“You pretty much just said that.” Ian laughed and Mickey looked down, hiding his grin. “Am I right? You want to?”

“You might be right.” Mickey replied, lifting his head up and staring at Ian. His eyes were sparkling again; Mickey was sure Ian did it on purpose just to fuck with him. “Your sister said something interesting tonight.”

Ian rolled his eyes. “She's like a younger Grace. What'd she say?”

“That you talk about me all the time.”

Ian blushed furiously, the colour of his cheeks managing to match the colour of his hair. He shook his head, never losing eye contact with Mickey. “She likes to meddle.”

“Was she telling the truth?” Mickey asked and Ian paused for a moment before he nodded. Mickey felt something fluttering in his chest; fucking butterflies. He cleared his throat gruffly before fixing his eyes on Ian's. “So, am I right in suggesting that _you_ want to make a move on _me_?”

“I don't know about that, Milkovich.”

Something in Mickey's lower half reacted to the way Ian said his last name; their voices were low, the loud music fading out as they stared at each other. Mickey had to fight the urge to jump Ian right there. Instead, he leaned forward slightly and ran a thumb over his lip. Ian followed the movement with his eyes and swallowed hard. “I'll ask again, Gallagher. Do you want to make a move on me?”

Instead of answering, they both moved forward at the same time. At the exact moment their lips met, Mickey felt it throughout his entire body. Ian lit him up in a way no one had ever done before and they were only kissing. He moved his mouth into Ian's; he tasted like beer and it made Mickey want him even more. He could feel his body reacting, feel himself getting hard but he pushed it aside; he didn't want this kiss to end. When Ian pushed his tongue into Mickey's mouth, he lost it. Mickey moaned into the kiss, his free hand snaking around Ian's neck and pulling him closer. He needed him closer, wanted to feel him closer. Ian responded by using his free hand to push Mickey's hair back before running it down Mickey's back; it made him shiver slightly. Their tongues fought together, small noises escaping both of them. Mickey had never been kissed like this, never wanted to be kissed like this. He never wanted it to end but because Mickey's life seemed to be like a romantic comedy these last few weeks, it ended very abruptly.

A scream erupted from the crowd, shattering the moment into pieces. Ian and Mickey pulled apart, their cheeks flushed and their lips swollen; the girl who'd screamed was standing nearby, excited to see the guy who'd arrived in front of her. They immediately began locking lips and Mickey turned back to Ian. They stared at each other; the moment was long gone and the music was blaring in their ears. Without a word, Ian stood up and left, not turning back once. Mickey sat on the couch, feeling drained and empty. What had he done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken me a little longer! It's a busy time of year and I kinda lost my steam for awhile there. It's back and I will aim to have chapter 6 up by the end of the weekend! Thank for reading and for your comments - you all make me so happy. Pretty please let me know what you think _ I really appreciate it. :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Come say hello!](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com)


	6. Step Six: Don't Be Afraid To Make A Move

Stumbling home drunk after the best kiss of his life was not how Mickey had anticipated the evening would go. He had no clue why Ian had taken off when they clearly both wanted it; that much had been obvious. Mickey hated kissing; he had never liked it and had always avoided it when guys tried it on with him. It was too intimate, too personal, and he had never enjoyed it. But kissing Ian...well, fuck. Mickey wouldn't mind if Ian let him kiss him for the rest of eternity if every kiss was like that one. Ian made him want so much more than he ever had; his head was spinning. And maybe it was the alcohol, but maybe it was also the fact that he was falling hard and fast for Ian, and he had no fucking clue what to do about it.

Thankfully, Grace didn't live far from Mickey's apartment. He was walking up to his building within ten minutes. There was a light on in Ian's unit and Mickey decided fuck it; he was not ending the night like this. He opened the door to the building and staggered towards Ian's door. Ian pulled it open after the first knock.

“What?”

“The fuck? You make a habit of goin' around kissin' dudes like that and then fuckin' off?” Mickey slurred, leaning on the door frame and going for what he hoped was an attractive pose. Ian looked him up and down; he was clearly a lot more sober than Mickey was. “Hard to get is gettin' me hard, Gallagher. Why don't you finish what you started?”

There was a smile on Ian's face but something in his expression told Mickey he was about to be rejected. “I can't. I'm not about to start something when I'm still with Ned. It wasn't – it didn't mean anything.”

“Are you kiddin' me?” Mickey mumbled, rubbing a hand through his hair. He took a step back, away from the safety of the wall and towards his door. “So that's it? It meant nothin'?”

“That's it.” Ian said, moving to close his door. Mickey watched him, standing in the hallway until the door had closed completely. When it had, he turned towards his own unit and slumped inside.

'That's it'? Mickey went straight for his fridge and pulled out a beer; fuck him. This is what Mickey got for trying, for doing something about how he felt. This is what he got for putting himself on the line. Instead of getting what he wanted, he got shut down. There was one thing he knew for sure, though; it didn't mean nothing. Mickey had never felt with anyone the way he had when he kissed Ian; you can't fake that. He downed his beer in record time and reached for another, taking it to his bedroom where he sat on his bed in the dark. Mickey's drunken mind was playing tricks on him and paranoia was setting in; did Ian fake it? Had Mickey read him all wrong so far? He sat further back on the bed and sat his drink on the side table. No, no that was ridiculous. What about what Debbie had said? Fuck, what about what Ian had said? He'd clearly been into it. As Mickey slowly drifted off to sleep, his thoughts were on one thing, and one thing only; he wanted Ian now more than ever, and he wasn't going down without a fight.

–

It had been easy, really. Mickey had been talking to Grace about Ned and how he couldn't shut up about the fact Ian was coming in to have lunch with him at the café, and how he couldn't wait to show off his toy – the hardest part had been not decking Ned for the sick way he spoke. Grace had taken matters into her own hands and made a phone call; now, they were behind the counter watching Ned and Ian hold hands over the table and sip on coffees. Mickey wanted to vomit. He hadn't seen Ian since the night of Grace's party; it'd been almost a week and they'd become experts at ignoring each other. Mickey would leave early for work or wait until he heard Ian leave the building. It was getting ridiculous and Mickey wanted nothing more than to see Ian, talk to him and maybe-definitely get him into bed.

“To be fair, Ian doesn't look happy.” Grace said quietly interrupting Mickey's thoughts as she surreptitiously watched from behind the coffee machine. Mickey had been wiping the same spot on the counter for the last five minutes. He glanced over at the table again and saw Ian pull his hands away from Ned. “Although that's probably because we're standing here watching.”

“He did tell me Ned was his type; maybe I have no chance? Maybe it's old men he goes for? Maybe he was imagining Ned when we -” Mickey cut himself off, not really wanting to finish the thought. He shook his head and tried to fit more serviettes into the dispenser; he'd already filled it twice. “Did you tell her what time to come in?”

“Yes – I said we had a beautiful new tart that she needed to try. I've always had a way with Candace – she adores me. I don't know what it is.” Grace said with a wave of her hand and an air of superiority. “She'll be here soon.”

“Do you think it will work?”

“Mickey, look at them.” Mickey glanced back over and saw Ned smiling sickeningly at Ian. He had to admit that Grace was right; Ian was speaking and he didn't look happy. In fact, neither did Ned now. His expression had changed quickly; what were they talking about? He turned back to Grace. “Of course this will work. Oh, shit – here she comes.”

Candace Lishman was stalking up the path towards the café, clearly having already seen Ned with Ian in the window. She was dressed as if on an outing with the president; her gold jewellery shone in the sunlight and her hair was immaculate. She stepped inside – Mickey was thankful the café was empty except for a regular in the corner who had headphones in and was buried in a book – and made straight for their table. Her bracelets clanged on her wrist as she slammed her hand down on the table; it was almost comical. Ned's face was shocked, his mouth hanging open like an idiot. Ian stood up straight away and took a step back.

“Would you like to tell me what the fuck is going on here?” Her voice was a quiet rage, if that was even possible. Mickey watched with wide eyes as Ned stood up, reaching out to touch his wife. “Don't fucking touch me, Ned!”

“Candace, honey -”

“This is who you've been fucking? This is why you haven't been home?” She threw an arm out towards Ian who was standing back, his expression unreadable. “You said this was going to stop! How many others?”

“No – no one, just him. I promise, my darling.” Ian snorted and shook his head, taking another few steps back as Candace rounded on him.

“Don't you fucking move!” Candace shouted, glaring at Ian. He held his hands up in surrender and she turned back on her husband, her voice shaking as much as her body was. “You need to get out. Tonight. Today. Now.”

“But -”

“I don't want to hear it!” She screeched, her voice reaching glass-cracking point. Ian took his opportunity and darted away, not even glancing at Mickey and Grace as he left. Candace didn't even notice; she was now slapping Ned wherever she could reach. “You think you can fuck whoever you want and forget about me? You think you can treat me like this? I'm not a fucking fool, Ned! You asshole! You fucking asshole!”

“Candace, darling, you don't know what you're saying!” Ned tried to placate her, but she was having none of it. He moved towards her slightly and she took a step back, her face incredulous.

“Oh, you're going to turn this around on me? Make it about my drinking?” Candace slapped him over the head again. “Why do you think I do it?! Because of you!”

With every word, she slapped him again. Ned rushed out of the café with Candace in close pursuit, screaming about all of the men Ned had apparently slept with. Ned was attempting to shelter his head from the now constant blows but Candace was having none of it. Mickey and Grace watched them leave, then turned to each other with matching expressions on their faces. 

“Well, I think I solved your Ned problem.”

–

The attack from Candace can't have lasted much longer; Ned had rung the café not long after they left and instructed Mae to close it early. It had been relatively quiet, anyway, and it meant they all got to go home early. The café was empty, the kitchen was clean and Mae, Grace and Mickey were sitting at one of the tables with a coffee, going over the events of the day and Ned's questionable managerial skills.

“So, you're telling me he flat out takes money from the till? He doesn't record it as income?” Grace asked and Mae nodded, setting her drink down. “But...isn't that fraud? Or embezzlement or something? Something to do with taxes?”

“Kind of, yeah. Embezzlement is just a fancy way of saying someone took money out of the till, but usually on a much grander scale. You know, the law originally came in because of thieving servants in England.” Mae told them both and Grace listened with wide-eyes, clearly interested. “But there's a lot of money that comes in and doesn't get recorded. I'm not sure what he does with it all.”

“Fuck, this place is going to the dogs.” Mickey commented, downing the last of his drink. “What will happen to our jobs if he goes under?”

“It's not really a matter of if, more like when.” Mickey and Grace stared at Mae, the thought of losing their jobs pulling them into silence. “But, luckily for you, I have a plan.”

“Can we help?” Grace asked but Mae shook her head. “Why?”

“At the moment, there's nothing you can do. When he goes under and is arrested, because it will happen, I'm hoping the place is put up for sale and I can swoop in and buy it.” Mae explained and Grace's face lit up with a smile. “And yes, your jobs would be safe with me. You may be out of a job for a week or two while the whole thing is investigated and eventually put up for sale, but I wouldn't leave you guys without a job.”

Mickey grinned at his friend and turned back to Mae. “How long before it all goes down do you think?”

“He's been doing this for a long time, and I think the argument with his wife today kind of showed he's losing it a little. I don't think it will be very long.”

With that thought ringing through their minds, they each made their own way home. Mickey couldn't stop thinking about the idea of no longer having to deal with Ned everyday; to actually enjoy his job fully was something he never really thought he'd have. Ned was always the one cloud in the otherwise sunny sky and yet now they had a chance to work without him. Plus, if Mae was running the place, she might even let him work more hours in the kitchen.

Mickey's good mood did nothing to squash the thoughts of Ian that inevitably came filtering in. He kept coming back to Ian's face in the café, how he'd looked so uncomfortable with Ned. Mickey was almost tempted to visit Ian and ask him, see if he was okay after the showdown at the café. He decided not to, though; Ian knew where he was. If he really wanted Mickey, he'd come find him.

When Mickey rounded the corner and got closer to his building, he spotted a black car out the front that looked weirdly familiar. He couldn't place it, though, and shrugged as he went inside. How many black cars were there in the city? It was nothing. His apartment was stuffy, as always, and he opened up the windows to let the air flow through. There was a bit of a breeze and it cooled the place down almost immediately; he was grateful for it. Glancing at his phone, he saw a text from Svetlana.

_Yevgeny is sick. I think he should stay with me Friday and if he is better then he will come to you on Saturday._

_No problem. He okay?_

_Just cold. All of his friends have this too. He needs rest._

_Let me know how he's doing._

_You get the boy you want yet? Yevgeny tell me about someone that like Harry Potter. Carrot top. That him?_

Mickey tossed his phone on the couch and moved into the kitchen, hunting for something to eat. Ignoring Svetlana's message was his best option right now. He was too hungry to even think about replying. He opened his fridge at least three times before realising he probably needed to do some shopping. He found leftover pizza and pulled it out; that'd do. There was a soft knock on the door and Mickey dumped the pizza in the microwave, wiping his hands on his pants as he moved to open the door. Mickey had barely pulled it open when Ian barrelled inside and shut it behind him as he did. 

“Can I fucking help you?” Mickey demanded. He felt a blush rising on his cheeks; he hadn't spoken to Ian since the night of Grace's party and the memory of their kiss was coming back to him in a rush. Ian whirled around to face him, his expression pinched.

“So, I have a small problem.” Ian started, wringing his hands together.

“Jesus, if this is about another rat you can find someone else, man.” Mickey spoke, shaking his head and pulling his pizza out of the microwave. It was piping hot and the plate burnt his fingers. He cursed under his breath and ran the cold water over them. 

“It's – uh, not about a rat. Of sorts.” 

Mickey raised an eyebrow, drying his fingers on a dish towel. “The fuck is it about, then?”

“Today, in the café. I was in the middle of breaking up with Ned – if you can call it that. We were hardly dating. More like -”

“I don't need to know what the fuck you two got up to. Keep goin'.” Mickey said gruffly. Ian sighed deeply, moving around to sit on Mickey's couch. Mickey stared at him, mumbling under his breath. “Help your fucking self.” 

“I was telling him I didn't want to see him any more when his wife came in. I'm sure you know what happened after that.” Mickey nodded, grabbing his food and sitting down at his small dining table, away from Ian. “Well, I went home. Not long after...Ned turned up. At my house. With a suitcase. He's staying for a few days while he sorts himself out.”

“Are you kidding?” That explained the fucking black car, then.

“I wish I was.” Ian said lowly, running a hand over his face. “He doesn't know I'm here, and he doesn't know you live here, either. I – I know I've made a mess, with you. Lead you on and pushed you away. I was full of shit when I said it meant nothing. I was telling Ned I didn't want to see him any more because of you.”

Mickey's head whipped up, his mouth full of hot pizza. Ian wasn't meeting his eyes, but looking down into his lap. Mickey spoke through a mouth full of food, “I can sense a 'but' coming.”

“But I don't feel right starting anything right now. Ned is living with me, for fuck's sake. And no, nothing is going on but...if he knew that we were...whatever we are, he might make it hard for you at work.” Ian spoke carefully, standing up now and coming to stand in front of Mickey at the table. Mickey swallowed and put his food down, looking up at Ian. 

“So you're doing this for me?” Mickey asked thickly, his voice coming out slightly strained. Ian nodded and Mickey scoffed. “My hero.”

“Come on, man. Don't be a dick.” Ian leaned down before Mickey could react, swiping his lips into Mickey's and sending Mickey's head spinning from the contact. “You taste like pizza.”

“No shit, Sherlock. You think you can just kiss me whenever you want and get away with it?” Mickey questioned, but he kept his voice light; Ian grinned wickedly. “I should teach you a lesson for that.”

“I'm hoping you do.” Ian stood up straight and left the unit, leaving Mickey sitting at the table with a plate full of now cold pizza and an uncomfortable situation in his pants.

–

Ever since Ned had moved in across the hall, Ian and Mickey had worked out a system; they'd switched from avoiding each other to making sure Mickey didn't bump into Ian's new house mate. Typically, Ned started the day a lot earlier than Mickey did. He was the one who would open the café in the morning and let everyone else in. Ian would text Mickey as soon as Ned had left so that Mickey could then wait an appropriate amount of time before leaving the building, too. Mickey didn't want Ned finding out that he was living directly across the hall; he wasn't too sure why, but it just didn't feel like a good idea. Mickey would text Ian when he was on the way and if Ned was home, Ian would make sure he was occupied or, at least, not looking out the window. It worked well, and it also meant that Mickey could talk to Ian each day, which he enjoyed more than a little bit, even if it was just texting.

_Ned just got home. How far away are you? He's talking about going out to dinner._

_With you?_

_No. Where are you?_

_I'm about an hour away. I have to pick up Yevgeny first._

_I'll let you know when he's gone._

Mickey tucked his phone into his pocket and went back to finishing up in the kitchen. Mae had asked him to clean a few things before he left and he was almost done. Grace walked in, her bag on her shoulder.

“You done?”

“Yeah, just about. Lemme just put all this shit away.” Mickey gestured to the cleaning products that lay on the bench and Grace nodded.

“Anything more happen with you and Ian since the Candace incident?”

“Ned is living next door, Grace, so no. We're not fucking every chance we get.”

“Nothing?”

“We text but mainly to make sure Ned isn't going to run into me. He doesn't know I live there and I don't really want him to know.”

Grace lifted her eyebrows suggestively, a grin on her face. “You text, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.” Mickey said bluntly, wiping down the last bench and tossing the cloth in the sink. He wiped his hands on his pants and turned to face Grace. “Ay, I have a bone to pick with you, too.”

“Oh?” She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and together they made their way out of the café. “And what would that be about?”

“You telling Ian we're fucking made for each other or some shit.”

“Lighten up, Mickster! Mandy and I met up with him in at The Glorious Fairy where he works one night, totally by chance – we got to talking and maybe I'd had a bit to drink -” Mickey rolled his eyes. “But come on! I honestly think you two would be well suited.”

“Well suited? Bullshit, you just like stirring the fucking pot.” The sun was low in the sky but the heat of the day was still present; the pair walked down the road together, already warm in the sun. Mickey shielded his eyes as they neared the corner of the street where Grace would go in a different direction.

“I do fucking not!” She said hotly. When Mickey gave her a look, she deflated slightly. “Oh, fuck you. So what if I do. I wasn't doing it this time – I know when I'm right, Mickey. You and Ian are endgame.”

“'Endgame'? The fuck, you weirdo?”

But Grace merely smiled and waved her hand as she took off down in the opposite direction, ignoring the finger Mickey was flipping her way. He huffed to himself and took off for Svetlana's place, pushing Grace's words out of his head. Yev was waiting on the front step when Mickey finally arrived.

“Papa!” He cried out, running towards Mickey and wrapping himself around Mickey's legs. When Mickey looked down with a raised eyebrow, Yevgeny grinned up at him. “Mama said it would annoy you.”

“Did she now? You wanna know how to annoy your mum?” Yevgeny nodded eagerly and Mickey glanced up to make sure Svetlana wasn't around. He leaned down, laughing to himself at Yev's excited look as he whispered into his ear.

Yevgeny frowned at Mickey's words but in the next moment, Svetlana came out. “Myshka! Go inside and get your bag.”

“Sorry, mama. It's illegal in America.” Mickey snorted loudly, attempting to hide it behind his hand but Svetlana was already glaring at him. One look was all it took for Yevgeny to dart inside to do as his mother had asked.

“You teach him this?”

“Shit, Svetlana. Let me have a little fun. Yev's feeling better now?”

“Such idiot.” She sat down on the step with a shake of her head and Mickey sat next to her, both waiting patiently for Yev. “Yes, he's fine. You never text me back. Carrot boy is new distraction, right?”

Mickey sighed deeply. “Yeah, he hit it off with Yev because they're both Harry Potter nerds, apparently. He lives next door but he's kind of involved with Ned.”

“Boss Ned? Shit.”

“Yeah, shit.”

“He like you?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Svetlana shrugged, flicking her long hair back over her shoulder and fixing her eyes on Mickey. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“Jesus fucking christ. You, Mandy, Grace. The three of you sound like a broken fucking record.” He ran his hand through his hair and glanced behind him. Yev was still inside, no doubt collecting a bunch of things he wanted to bring with him.

“Fucking wonder why, stupid boy. Because we care. You should be happy. Yev would like to see that.” Svetlana said harshly, shaking her head as she spoke. She stared at him for a moment before softening slightly. “He ask me the other night why you don't live here. When I tell him that we are happy in separate house, he tell me that you must be lonely.”

“Jesus.” Mickey breathed under his breath. “Did you tell him I'm not?”

“Of course, I lie. You lonely, I can tell. But he worry about his papa.” Svetlana said with a smirk on her face. Mickey was about to swear at her for the nickname when Yev came bounding back out, a collection of DVDs in his hands.

“Harry Potter four tonight?” Yev asked excitedly and Mickey nodded, ruffling his hand through his hair.

“Let's go.”

–

A quick text to Ian meant that he and Yevgeny were free to arrive home without worrying about Ned bumping into them. Mickey set up the movie and sat down next to Yev, his phone in his pocket,. He'd brought home pasta from work and they'd finished eating it before starting the movie; the benefits of working in a kitchen. The opening scene was barely through when his phone beeped; Yev gave him a warning look.

“Sorry.” Mickey muttered, turning it on silent before reading the text.

_I know you're with Yev, sorry for bothering you guys. Just letting you know that Ned won't be home at all tonight. He told me not to wait up._

_Fucking creep. Thanks for the text, man._

_No problem. You guys watching Harry Potter?_

A thought spun through Mickey's mind, and he glanced down at Yev. The kid gave him a look that told him not to bother him, but Mickey paused it anyway.

“Dad!”

“Sorry, sorry. But, do you remember the man who looked like Ron? My neighbour?”

“Yes.” Yev huffed, folding his arms and glaring at the TV screen where Harry's face was paused.

“Would you mind if he came over and watched it with us?” Mickey asked carefully, watching for Yevgeny's reaction. The kid looked up at him with a smile.

“Ron watch Harry Potter with us?” Yev asked and giggled at himself, his finger hovering over the 'play' button on the remote. “Yeah, dad. Sure.”

_Come over and watch with us?_

There was a knock on the door minutes later and Mickey had a grin on his face without even realising it. He opened the door and Ian came in, a shy smile amongst his freckles and the juvenile way they were acting made Mickey's stomach do flips. 

“Hey, Ron!” Yevgeny called out from the couch, pausing the movie again and turning to face the newcomer with a wide smile on his face.

“Alright, Yev?” Ian called, putting on his best English accent. Mickey let out a loud laugh as they moved towards the couch. Yev collapsed back into his seat, watching with a small smile on his face as Mickey and Ian sat down together. “Hey, I'd like to see you do better.”

“Ay, man. I won't even try that shit because I know I can't do it.”

“Dad!” Yevgeny gasped, and Mickey mentally hit himself. Yev stared at him with a stern face, the remote in his hands.

“Sorry, Yev. Shall we play the movie?” Yev shook his head at his dad, and Mickey silently prayed that he wouldn’t tell Svetlana about the cuss word; the death stare he was getting from Yev was enough.

Yev pressed play and they settled in to watch the movie, Ian seated next to Mickey but with enough distance in between them. Mickey chanced a sidelong glance at Ian and felt a swoop in his stomach when he found that Ian was watching him. They shared a small smile and turned back to the movie, but it wasn't long before Mickey's stomach was doing fucking somersaults again; Ian, so slowly that Mickey didn't even realise what was happening till it was done, moved his hand towards Mickey's. When he reached Mickey's hand, he weaved his fingers through it and held it. It was a simple gesture; Mickey had never held hands with anyone other than Yev before and he was surprised to find that he liked it. The warmth, the comfort of Ian's skin on his own – he let his lips curl up into a small smile and he could practically feel the smile radiating from Ian's face. 

They stayed that way for the rest of the movie with Ian occasionally squeezing Mickey's hand or using his thumb to stroke his skin lightly; the touch was sending waves of electricity through Mickey and he found that he didn't focus much on the movie at all. Ian, on the other hand, was clearly more of a Harry Potter fan than he'd originally let on. He was worse than Yev, quoting the odd line and smiling at the characters on the screen. Mickey wanted to watch Ian watching the movie just to see his dorky face.

When it had ended, Ian let go of his hand and Mickey immediately closed his own into a fist, missing the contact. Ian stood up and stretched, grinning down at Yev who was barely awake.

“Good movie, hey?” Ian asked Yevgeny and the boy nodded sleepily, smiling up at the redhead.

“The next one is my favourite.” Yev said and Ian's eyes widened.

“Really? Mine, too!” They shared an excited grin and Mickey watched with an amused expression.

“Dad, can Ian watch number five with us when we watch it?” Ian's warm smile was enough to give Mickey heart palpitations; Yev was looking up at him with tired, pleading eyes.

“I'm sure we could work something out. Right, bed time.” Mickey stated and Yev nodded, already picking himself up and moving into the other room. He mumbled a goodnight to them both and Mickey followed him to tuck him in. When he returned, Ian was standing in the kitchen, looking at the photos on Mickey's fridge. There were a few there, mostly of Yevgeny and a few of Grace and Mandy. 

“He's such a cute kid.” Ian said as Mickey leaned against the counter behind him.

“Gets it from his dad.” Mickey quipped and Ian turned and grinned at him. Mickey yawned, not realising how tired he'd been, before letting his arms drop to his sides. Ian took a step towards him.

“I don't know if cute is a word I would use to describe you, Mick.” Ian was close enough that Mickey could reach out and touch him if he wanted to, and fuck, he wanted to.

“I thought I told you not to call me Mick?” 

“I've never been one for doing as I'm told.” Ian said quietly. In one swift movement, he closed the distance between them and put his hands either side of Mickey on the counter, dipping his head low and lightly pressing his lips to Mickey's. It didn't last long; within seconds, the intensity hitched up a level and Mickey's arms were around Ian's waist, pulling him closer as his tongue delved deeper. One hand reached up to finger through Ian's hair while Mickey's other slowly, hesitantly, moved below his back. Ian moaned softly into Mickey's mouth, encouraging the movement as Mickey palmed his ass. The heat between them seemed to double with each passing second, and it was only as Ian moved his hands from the counter to twist their way under Mickey's shirt that the latter was reminded of where they were, and who was in the next room.

He pulled away, panting softly and not so subtly disguising how hard his cock was. Not that it mattered; Ian's was just as hard. Mickey looked up at Ian who was smiling slightly. “Fuck me, Gallagher.” Mickey said breathlessly.

“That's the plan, Mick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting excited because I keep changing the ending to this! Subtle (or not so) Sherlock reference because The Abominable Bride set my Johnlock heart on fire. 
> 
> I'm hoping that people are still reading this. I know a lot has gone down in the fandom the last few days, but Mickey Milkovich deserves better; I plan on giving him that in my fics. I'm planning a good one after this one. :)
> 
> All the best, my lovelies. Thank you for reading. I'll have the next one up as soon as I can.
> 
> [Come say hello?](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com)


	7. Step Seven: Cut Your Ex Loose

Mickey's temperature seemed to spike every time he saw Ian; it was getting out of hand, and he knew the only way to solve it was for them to finally get it the fuck on, but that was not happening any time soon. It had been two long weeks of dodging Ned in the hallway, putting up with his shit at work as Ned's life slowly fell apart, and wanting so desperately to walk across the hall and let Ian kiss Mickey like his life depended on it. Mickey thought about Ian's lips several times a day, but now it was getting to the point where he couldn't get through the day without rubbing one out to the thought of Gallagher and what his mouth would feel like on other parts of Mickey's body. It was a major distraction, but he was willing to suffer through it; Ian was pretty easy on the eyes.

Ever since Ian had broken things off with Ned, the latter had been spending less and less time at 'home'. Of course, this wasn't a problem at all; it meant Mickey and Ian could spend time together without worrying about Ned catching them, and it meant Ian didn't have to put up with Ned around the house. Mickey had been pressing Ian to tell Ned to leave, but the redhead had been insistent that Ned was going to leave; he'd apparently found a new toy to play with. Ned's interest in Ian was lessening by the day – never mind the fact that they'd broken up – and the end of this fucked up situation was clearly in sight; until one slight hiccup.

_Are you home?_

Mickey had his phone in his hand almost all the time, now – he didn't want to miss a text from Ian. If that didn't scream teenage girl with a crush, he didn't know what would. He'd fully accepted that he was in deep; now he just wanted to get on with the next step. Fucking.

_Yeah, come over if you want. I've got beer._

Ian walked through the front door five minutes after Mickey had sent the text. Ian pulled two beers from the fridge and sat down on the couch next to Mickey, letting their legs casually bump together. It was too hot in the little unit to be so close but neither moved. This was their normal, now; they were comfortable with each other, and it made Mickey happy to feel the pressure against his leg, knowing that Ian was there.

“What's up, Firecrotch?” Mickey asked, grinning at his new found nickname for Ian. They opened their beers as Ian returned his smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. “You okay, man?”

“I lost my job today.” Ian said sullenly, tipping his head back and taking a long drink of the cold beverage. “At the Kash and Grab. Apparently they are shutting down; marriage broke up and they can't afford to run it any more.”

“Shit, man. That fucking sucks ass.”

“Yeah, I fucking know.” Ian replied, taking another swig. “I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do. The Fairy doesn't do enough business to hire me during the week, and my classes will be starting up again soon so I can't work evenings, any way.”

“You need something during the day, yeah?” Mickey asked, drinking his own beer. Ian nodded and Mickey sighed. “Fuck. I know it sounds shitty but what about a fast food place or something? There's always jobs going at places like that.”

“It's not shitty; someone has to do those jobs. I guess that's my only choice, now.” Ian sunk lower into his seat on the couch, hesitantly leaning a head on Mickey's shoulder as he did. Mickey tightened his grip on his drink; this closeness between them sent something inside him fluttering, brought up thoughts of where their kisses were so close to leading. “I just wanna forget about this shitty day.”

“Is Ned home tonight?”

“Nah, he's out with some fuckboy. I don't give a shit but yesterday he fucking asked if he could bring someone home. What the fuck is he thinking?” Ian demanded incredulously, downing the last of his beer and leaning forward to sit the empty can on the coffee table in front of them. He fell backwards, even closer to Mickey now. He mumbled to himself, “What the fuck was I thinking?”

Mickey was silent and instead of answering, he took a moment to finish his own drink. When he sat back, he cautiously lifted one of his arms and put it around Ian. “I don't know, man, but thank fuck I came along to sweep you off your feet, right?”

Ian burst out laughing, his hand covering his mouth as he let out the sound. “You're such an idiot.”

“You sound like Svetlana.” Mickey commented and Ian shifted slightly so that he could look at Mickey's face; Mickey's instinct was to connect their lips but he fought off the urge.

“She's Yevgeny's mum?” Ian asked and when Mickey nodded, Ian bit his lip. Mickey knew what was coming. He'd learned that the best way to tell the story was bluntly. ”How did you two -”

“My dad found a bunch of gay magazines under my bed. He beat the shit out of me and Svetlana was ordered to 'fuck the faggot' out of me.” Ian flinched at the word and Mickey regretted using it; he hadn't used that word in a very long time. It only carried bad memories and he made a note to not use it again. “She got pregnant. We played like a couple for awhile and I was fucking lucky she didn't say shit to my dad about me being gay but it got too much. Here we are.”

Ian sat up on his knees next to Mickey, a strange expression on his face. Softly, his hands cupped Mickey's face and pulled it in to meet his own; their lips met lightly, barely touching, and for once there was no rush to take it further. It was soft and sweet, everything Mickey had pushed away his whole life in favour of being hard, rough around the edges but he was not going to deny that the gentle way Ian was kissing him made him feel things he wasn't used to feeling, things he wasn't even sure he could name yet. When Ian pulled away, he placed a kiss on Mickey's forehead before settling in next to him again. Mickey was speechless.

“You've been through so much shit, and you still let me kiss you like that.” Ian said, his voice sounding almost proud as Mickey's cheeks blushed. 

“I don't -” Mickey's voice broke as he spoke, and he cleared his throat roughly. This was not who he was used to being; he was not a romantic. But that kiss cracked his fucking heart right fucking open. “I don't usually like kissing. But you're not too bad, Gallagher.”

The joke did what he had wanted it to; the air between them went back to being easy. He could only handle being that open for so long. Ian prodded him in the side and picked up the TV remote. “You wanna watch something?”

“Sure.” Mickey agreed, his eyes glazing over as Ian flicked through the channels. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this comfortable with someone, or this happy. He was not giving it up any time soon.

The slight hiccup presented itself the following morning. Ian had left after a mini make out session – words Mickey never thought he'd use to describe something he'd done – and Ned had arrived home unexpectedly not long after. It'd been a close escape but Ned had returned with welcome news; he would be out of Ian's house within a week. Ian had text him happily when it had happened, and Mickey was already imagining what he was going to do to Ian the first chance he got when another text came through.

_He just offered me a job at The Crafty Dog._

Shit.

–

Of course Ian had to take it; there was no way he couldn't and Mickey understood that, but he wasn't really prepared for how fucking awkward it would be. When Mickey arrived at work the next morning, Ned was in the kitchen talking to Mae. Mickey busied himself with finding his apron and pulling out random items as he saw them – he wasn't too sure what he was doing.

“Ah, Mickey.” Ned turned to face him and Mickey couldn't help but notice how run down he looked; his hair was all over the place and there were dark bags under his eyes. His clothes were rumpled, and they certainly didn't look clean. Mickey bit back a smirk and walked over to where Ned and Mae were standing. “You've met Ian before?”

“No.” Mickey said firmly, as if answering a lie detector test. Ned gave him a weird look and Mickey mentally shook himself; cut it the fuck out. “No, but I've seen him around.”

“Yes, yes, well he's going to be working here from today, okay? You'll show him around the kitchen? Mae knows to leave you to it and then she'll give you two jobs to do once you're done.” Ned explained before stalking out of the kitchen without waiting for answer. Great. So now Mickey was going to be showing Ian the ropes and actively trying not to fuck him at work. Fucking great.

Ian arrived just before ten, a nervous expression on his face. Grace showed him out the back with a grin on her face; this was all a giant game to her. Mae came over and introduced herself with a warm smile before leaving Mickey to it.

“Hi, I'm Mickey. I'll show you around.” He held out his hand and Ian shook it, holding his grasp a second too long. The contact sent excitement through Mickey's body but he ignored it; this was not the place or the time. It already felt weird enough introducing himself to someone he'd kissed more than once. He led Ian straight to the storage area and into the walk-in fridge, shutting the door behind them. “Well, this isn't awkward at all.”

Ian relaxed slightly in front of him. “You're telling me. He went on and on last night about how we can 'still be friends' even though he's moved on. You know what Ned said to me about you? 'Mickey will look after you. He's a looker but he's a thug, so be careful,'” Mickey laughed out loud at Ned's description of him.

“A looker? Christ.” He snorted, laughing some more while Ian glared at him. “Seriously though, man – you better be careful of me. I'm quite the thug.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Come on, Gallagher. It's a little funny.” When Ian folded his arms across his chest and glared at him, Mickey relented, his laughter coming to an end. “Fine. But I'm trying to see the funny side because all I can think about is trying to work while you're in the same building as me.”

Ian's demeanour changed immediately, his seriousness forgotten; he took a step closer to Mickey, a smile stretching across his face. “Oh, really? So, it would be distracting if I was to do this?” Mickey had been expecting a kiss but instead, Ian dipped his head and placed his lips on Mickey's neck, sending Mickey's head spinning.

“Fuck you.”

“What about this, Milkovich?” Mickey's cock twitched with the combination of Ian's words and his tongue darting out to swipe up his neck. Ian's breath was warm against his skin and it was driving him up the wall. Fucking asshole. “I hope I'm not distracting you too much. I just wanna be clear as to where the boundaries are.”

“You're a fucking dick.”

Ian moved his leg in between Mickey's as they stood in the walk-in chiller, oblivious to the cool temperature or the fact that Mae was outside, clueless as to what was going on. “For example, is this okay?” His hand was on the bulge in Mickey's pants and the latter almost lost it, his head tipping back and a moan threatening to escape his lips. Ian's hands moved up under his shirt now, nails raking softly over his skin. “How about this?”

Mickey had had enough; he shifted and pushed Ian back against the closed door, Mickey's arms pinning the redhead where he stood. Without a word, he attacked Ian's lips with a fierceness he hadn't been aware he possessed; the heat between them rose with each small noise, each hand exploring and the way their tongues tangled with one another. He was aware that this wasn't the place, that they could be caught at any moment but it only made him hotter. Ian was rock hard against his leg and he wanted so badly to take it further, take Ian in his hands. Mickey fumbled with Ian's belt buckle when Ian pushed him away, his face flushed.

“Jesus fucking christ. Not here. Not now.” Ian gasped, running his hands over his face.

“All talk, Gallagher?” Mickey teased, running a thumb over his bottom lip before straightening his shirt and attempting to hide the uncomfortable situation in his trousers. Ian grinned, shaking his head. “Ay, you started this.”

“And I intend to finish it, but aren't you supposed to be showing me around, sir?” Ian asked, his wide eyes innocent as he put his hand on the door to open it. Mickey stared, finding it hard to believe that someone this fucking hot was into him as much as Ian seemed to be. He wasn't going to question it; Mickey just wanted to get on him before Ian realised just how lacklustre Mickey really was. He certainly didn't deserve someone like Ian; Mickey wasn't sure anyone did.

Later in the day, Mickey was sitting outside in the shade eating his lunch – a rather boring sandwich – and wishing he wasn't stuck in this impossible situation with Ian and Ned. Mickey had been avoiding Ian's eye all morning; he'd suffered through showing Ian around the kitchen and helping him with the prep work. Ian had picked it up quickly – it wasn't hard work – and Mickey had been able to leave him to it. If he was honest with himself, he was glad for the break. Something about Ian with an apron on in the kitchen was doing things to him.

The door opened and Grace came out, a bowl full of salad in one hand and her phone in the other. She squinted in the sun before plopping down next to Mickey. She took a mouthful of her lunch and stared at him while she ate. Grace swallowed and fixed Mickey with a stare. He already knew what's coming.

“Are you two fucking?”

“Straight to the point, Grace, as fucking always.” Mickey said, laughing to himself.

“Answer the question.” She said harshly through a mouthful of lettuce; Mickey raised an eyebrow at her abrupt tone.

“No, we are not fucking.”

“Well, jesus fucking christ, Mickey – keep it in your fucking pants. You two have been eye-fucking each other all morning.” Mickey stared at her and she scoffed at him. “You're more obvious than you think.”

“Seriously?” Mickey asked in a hushed voice after finishing his sandwich and taking a drink from his water bottle that sat at his feet. 

“No, but I knew I could call your bluff.” Grace said triumphantly, grinning at Mickey who flipped her off. “So, you _are_ fucking?”

“You're an asshole. No, we aren't, scouts honour.” Mickey said, pretending to salute Grace. He stretched out his legs in front of him, his mind drifting back to the incident in the chiller that morning. He looked down at his feet and mumbled, “We're close, though.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it. Mandy owes me ten bucks – she thought you would have fucked him by now. But seriously, you two have been subconsciously flirting all morning.”

“Subconsciously flirting? Do you hear yourself talk sometimes, little Gracie?” Mickey teased, grinning when Grace tried to kick him. He dodged it easily. “Bullshit we have.”

“So what's going on with you two, then?”

“I...honestly am not too sure. I don't fucking know, Grace. I think we're just waiting for Ned to move out and then we'll see what happens?” Mickey said carefully, mulling over the idea in his own head. Grace eyed him for a second, one eyebrow raised.

“Okay, I'm your best friend, right?”

“Most of the time.” Mickey mumbled, earning himself an actual kick this time. “Yes, Grace. You are my best friend.”

“Jeez, one more time with feeling. Don't do what you always do.” 

“And what the fuck do I always do?” Mickey asked, oblivious to what Grace was getting at. She swallowed her mouthful of food and glared at him.

“Ruin it before it even has a chance to turn into something more.” She stated clearly. “Don't even start with this 'I only do one night stands' bullshit. That's all you do because you're too scared that someone will reject you. Ian is a good person, and he clearly likes you. A lot.”

Mickey was stunned into silence; Grace had a way with words that cut him right down to the bone, exposing his true self. He hated it for the most part, but he had to admit that she was right almost all of the time. “Whatever, Grace.”

“Don't fucking brush me off, Mickey. You're not some neighbourhood thug, any more, okay? I know you, and I know you really like this guy. So don't fucking blow it by setting yourself up for a fall.”

Mickey held up his hands. “Okay, okay.” He mumbled, uncomfortable with how her words hit so close to home. He muttered something about his break being over and stepped back into the café, pleased to be away from the cold truths Grace seemed to be spitting out today.

Five rolled around faster than he'd expected it to, and Mickey was sitting in the staff room on his phone when Ian came in, a wide grin on his face. He glanced around before sitting down next to Mickey; not close enough that it would cause suspicion, but close enough that Mickey could smell his aftershave and fuck, he wanted to be on Ian right then.

“He's moving out tomorrow!” Ian whispered in a hush, dipping his head close to Mickey's neck. His breath was warm on Mickey's skin and it sent shivers down his spine. Ian didn't miss a fucking thing. “Am I too close?”

“Not fucking close enough, Gallagher.” Mickey wanted to move closer, push it further, but he knew it would be a bad idea, given their current location. He stood up, clearing his throat. “Good work today.”

“Thanks, man.”

With a suggestive wink, Mickey left. He was barely out the front door of the café when he had a text come through on his phone from Mandy.

_Come for a drink tonight with me and Grace?_

He mulled it over and decided that if Ned was going to be moving out the following day, he was most likely going to be home that night. That meant no Ian and Mickey time, so fuck it. He text his sister back a reply and hurried home to get changed.

–

“Grace! Why the fuck do you have to ask that shit?” Mickey demanded, accidentally sloshing his beer on the table as he put the glass back down. They were in one of the few Irish pubs in the area, known for its cheap drinks; it was Mickey's favourite because it never got too busy. 

“Come on, it's an innocent question.” Grace slurred back while Mandy grinned at her adoringly.

“How many times have I got myself off thinking about Ian?” Mickey repeated her question and Grace burst into giggles, almost spilling her drink in the process. “You can fuck right off with that shit.”

“You're no fun.” Grace teased, turning to kiss Mandy on the cheek. The two girls grinned at each other and Mickey shook his head. 

“Get a fucking room.”

“Hey, you always had complaints about my boyfriends. Surely this one is an improvement?” Mandy asked hotly, one arm around Grace.

“Improvement, yes. The best you could do? I don't know about that, Mandy.” Mickey said and immediately paid for it; Grace aimed a kick to his shins and when her foot connected with bone, he let out a cry. “Ay, fuck! I was fucking kidding!”

“I didn't think it was that funny.” Grace replied, a small smirk on her face. She stood up and made for the bar, stumbling a little on the way. Mandy smiled in her direction before turning to Mickey.

“She's happy for you, really.” She was the sober voice for the night; her boss had asked her to come in on the following morning – a fucking Saturday – for a meeting and she was determined not to turn up hungover. “She talks about you all the time and how perfect Ian is for you.”

“Not you too.” Mickey groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “She's already told Ian that we're 'meant to be' together.”

“But what do you think about that?” Mandy asked, fixing him with a stare. His phone buzzed from the table and he glanced down to see a text from Ian.

_Stuck here with the world's biggest idiot. Wish I was with you._

_Out with Mandy and Grace at the Irish place on Reemer st. Keep thinking about this morning._

Mickey smiled into his phone and typed out the reply before he looked up at Mandy. She was watching him fondly. “Ay, don't give me that look, Mandy.”

“You're happy, aren't you?” She asked, putting her sister hat on and giving him a look that made him want to vomit, but then maybe that was the alcohol. “I think Ian is really good for you, Mick.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I think so, too.” He mumbled, more to himself than Mandy. Grace arrived back at the table, diverting the attention away from him. She passed over their drinks, a drunken smile plastered to her face as she held up her own; Mickey and Mandy followed suit and held their own drinks up.

“To Mickey, for finally learning to love.”

Before Mickey could use a few choice words against her, she'd tapped their glasses together and both the girls were drinking. Fuck it, Mickey thought, and downed his drink. He was fighting a losing battle with these two, anyway.

–

When Mickey woke up the next morning, his phone was already in his hand. He remembered texting Ian into the early hours, although he didn't really remember the subject of those texts, and realised he must have fallen asleep with his phone in his hand. His most recent message from Ian confirmed this.

_Mick? You must have fallen asleep. I'll talk to you tomorrow._

A sleepy smile crossed Mickey's face but it was wiped when he remembered Grace's toast from the night before; finally learning to love? Shit. He stretched out in bed and rubbed his eyes, tossing the blankets off as the heat of the morning slowly infiltrated his room. Is that what was happening? He'd never been in love, never even come close to it before. How was he supposed to know when he was feeling it? Somewhere, deep in his brain, something was niggling at him and he realised that the answer to that was probably something along the lines of 'you just know'. It was too early to be delving into his feelings for Ian and he mentally pushed it aside right as his phone rang. It was work.

“Mickey? It's June, honey. Sorry to wake you. Are you able to pop in and help, love?” The elderly voice of Mickey's co-worker came through the phone and he fought back a groan; he couldn't resist her sweet temperament. “One of the weekend staff is sick, that's all.”

“Yeah, June. I'll be in as soon as I can.”

There goes his lazy Saturday, Mickey thought bitterly. He brought up his messages to Ian, intending on texting him about Ned moving out, when he saw the damage he'd done the night before. Endless text messages, a constant stream, all full of suggestive words; some of them were down right explicit. Mickey almost blushed reading them – shit. He sent a quick message before climbing out of bed to get ready.

_Sorry for all of the texts last night. I think I had more to drink than I realised._

When Mickey climbed out of the shower, feeling slightly more human, his phone was flashing to tell him he had a message. Forgetting about getting dressed, he strode into his room with a towel around his waist and picked up his phone; it was from Ian, of course.

_We may have a problem. I think Ned read my messages this morning. I'll talk to you later today about it – he asked me to work today._

Mickey looked up from his phone and caught his reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite him; he was pale, shades whiter than he normally was, and his mouth was hanging open. Shit. Shit fucking shit. If Ned had seen the messages, that meant he would know what Mickey and Ian were up to, not that they were up to a lot at the moment – not for lack of trying – but even so, the messages he'd sent last night were pretty incriminating. He scrolled back through what he'd sent and there were several that insulted Ned in some way or another, a few that asked Ian to compare – ahem – sizes. Mickey ran his hand over his face and set about getting dressed; fuck it. He would face whatever came. What else could he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I decided to update this early. I'm now more than a little eager to finish this fic and get on with my fic for the Shameless Big Bang. It's gonna break your hearts and then slowly put em back together again!
> 
> Thank you for reading, once again. This one is a little shorter but hopefully still good. I love you all lots and lots! Your comments are always so appreciated. Until next time!
> 
> [Come say helloooo~](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com)


	8. Step Eight: Sex Isn't Everything – It's All About The Lead Up

A Saturday working in the café was never a promising way to spend a weekend; Mickey had originally worked weekends when he'd started at the café, but had quickly moved to Monday to Friday which he was incredibly grateful for. For some reason, weekends meant hipsters who complained about the coffee or lack of gluten free options, and Mickey found it impossibly hard not to punch someone in the face. He could tell who was going to complain by just one look; that little curl of the lip, the sarcastic expression like Mickey can't do anything right, like he's dirt on the bottom of their shoe because he's working in a café on the weekend. Fuck them. Mickey would just add them to the list of customers he made fun of with Grace, because after all, that's all those customers were good for.

Ned didn't work weekends. He was too good for that, of course. Mickey had once heard Ned complaining to Mae that he'd never worked a weekend in his life. Well, how fucking wonderful for him. He was so far stuck up his own ass that it was impossible for him to put himself in someone else's shoes; some people had no choice to work weekends, and for all that Mickey was concerned, Ned could go fuck himself.

When Mickey eventually got to work, he immediately jumped on the till. June was drowning in customers, and Nikki, one of the students, had a list a mile long of coffees she had yet to make. Mickey was shit at making coffees, but Grace had trained June a few months ago so they switched places. Mickey plastered a smile on his face and looked up, ready to serve the next asshole in line.

“Yeah, uh, hi. Get me a -” The girl looked up at the board, squinting in a way that suggested to Mickey that she didn't like the way the menu was written. Like she hadn't just been waiting in line and deciding what she fucking wanted. He couldn't give two flying fucks and stared at her, waiting not-so-patiently. His smile had already disappeared. Her long, so perfectly straight hair fell in front of her eyes and she ever so carefully pushed it out of the way. “Get me a triple, half sweet, non-fat caramel macchiato.”

Mickey just stared at her some more, because really, what the fuck? It's fucking coffee. Just fucking drink it like a normal fucking person instead of adding nonsense fucking words to complicate things and ruin Mickey's day. Jesus. “What size?” 

“Get me a large.”

Get me. Fucking get the fuck out, Mickey thought angrily, punching the buttons on the till in front of him. The girl was glaring at him, clearly not impressed with his attitude. He had half a mind to stand there blankly until she decided to use some fucking manners, but he wasn't really in the mood to get fired today – especially if Ned really had seen those texts. He attempted a smile again but judging by the horrified look on the customer's face, he wasn't succeeding. “That's five fifty, please.”

Mickey held his hand out but instead of handing over the coins in her hand, the customer dumped them on the counter and watched with a smirk as Mickey picked each individual one up, counting them as he did. He wanted to throw them right back at her. “Name for the order, please?”

“Sky, with an e.” Mickey picked up the cup and wrote, in capital letters, 'SKI'. With a smile that was more a grimace, he passed it to June and thanked the customer. The next person in line stepped up, staring up at the menu just as 'Ski' had done.

“Skye? What did you get?” It was going to be a long fucking morning. 

And it was. Each customer seemed to outshine the last in the asshole department, and by the time it hit midday, Mickey was surprised he hadn't decked anyone. There was finally a lull in customers and June put her arm on his shoulder, sending him a warm smile. She never lost her cool; Mickey was jealous.

“You head into the kitchen, dear. I'm sure Derek and Ian could do with some help.” Mickey had forgotten Ian was even working today – he must have arrived long before Mickey – and he moved past Nikki to head into the back.

Derek was their weekend chef, though he couldn't really be called that. Mae prepped a lot of the stuff that he needed during the week, and for the most part he was just cleaning or prepping for the next day – coffee was their main business on weekends. Mickey had only met the guy once or twice; he'd started after Mickey, and had trained with Mae for a week before moving to the weekend shift. Mickey hadn't liked him, and still didn't like him. The guy had asshole written all over him, not to mention the fact that he wore a backwards cap on his head all the fucking time. Middle of winter and snow coming down outside? Better wear a cap. Pouring down with rain? Don't want your fucking neck getting wet. Backwards cap it is. He'd tried it on with Grace more than once, and Mickey had taken pleasure in watching her turn him down more than once. The guy just didn't get it.

Mickey entered the kitchen and felt his blood boil almost instantly. Ian was standing with his back to Mickey, washing something in the sink with Derek standing next to him. No, next to him was the wrong way to describe it. Practically on fucking top of him would be a better description. Derek was laughing about something loudly, that fucking cap sitting on his head, his eyes fixed on Ian. From what Mickey could see, Ian looked incredibly uncomfortable.

“Yo, Derek.” Mickey called, his voice a lot friendlier than he'd ever been with Derek. He lifted his head in greeting when Derek turned to him, his douchebag smile sitting cleanly on his face and his backwards cap firmly in place. “You met Ian, then?”

Ian turned, relief flooding over his face. Mickey sent a smile his way, his eyes flicking back to Derek who was still standing so fucking close to Ian it made Mickey's skin crawl, though he wasn't too sure why it annoyed him so much. He moved closer to the pair, eyeing Derek up. 

“Yeah, man. I was just telling him about this dude I banged last weekend – I was fucking out of it, but now this guy won't stop fucking calling me, you know?” Derek laughed, expecting Mickey to do the same. When Mickey just stared, he cleared his throat and fucking finally stepped away from Ian. “You working today, dude?”

“Yeah, dude.” Mickey mocked and Ian snorted, covering up the noise with the pot he was cleaning, banging it against the side of the sink. “You got the prep ready for tomorrow morning? Super Sunday – cheap breakfasts, remember?”

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, watching the way Ian and Mickey shared glances. Mickey didn't want him to piece it together, but he didn't want Derek to think he could continue whatever the fuck Mickey had walked in on. “It's been pretty busy this morning, man, so nah. Not yet.”

Mickey folded his arms, casually leaning against the bench behind him and staring at Derek. “Best get on with it. Dude.”

It wasn't often that Mickey called superiority over someone at work; there was no one really 'below' him that he was in charge of, and he never had the need to with the weekday staff. But the students that worked on the weekends were a different story. They knew Mickey, knew that he was pretty good in the kitchen, and knew that he'd been there a little while to know what he was doing. So any time Mickey had to work a Saturday, they usually looked to him to tell them what to do. Derek watched Mickey for a second, flicking his eyes to Ian who was ignoring them both before back to Mickey. He'd clearly worked out what was going on – it wasn't a secret at work that Mickey was gay, and the looks he and Ian had exchanged would have been enough for an idiot to work out what they meant. He took another step away from Ian, lifted off his hat and scratched his head.

“Yeah, man. I'll take my break and get right on it.” Derek mumbled, backing out of the kitchen and disappearing out the back door for his lunch. Ian turned as soon as he was gone and grinned at Mickey.

“Thank fuck. All morning he kept making these suggestive comments, and then he stands so close to me I can practically smell eau de idiot wafting off of him. I was so close to hitting him, Mickey.” Ian said solemnly, and Mickey laughed at the serious look on his face. Ian finished with the pot he was cleaning and wiped his hands on a dish towel, coming to lean against the bench with Mickey. “I didn't know you were working today, too.”

“June asked me to. What's the deal with Ned, man?” Mickey felt his face flush as he remembered some of the texts he'd sent to Ian the night before.

“Shit, okay. So I left my phone on the table after I'd had breakfast – forgot about it. I went to have a shower which is when you must have text. It was opened when I got out of the shower, and Ned was gone. He would have seen the whole thread, gone back as far as he liked.” Ian explained, his hands wringing together slightly. Mickey wanted to grab them and stop them from worrying so much, but that was not ideal given their current location. “I thought he was working today, to be honest. It's probably better that he's not.”

“You're not fucking wrong there. Shit.” Mickey thought for a second, going over their possible options when something occurred to him. “Wait – 'as far back as he liked'? How many texts did I fucking send?”

Ian let out a laugh at Mickey's face. “A lot. They go way back to when we first exchanged numbers.”

“You keep all my texts, ay Gallagher?” Mickey asked, raising an eyebrow and risking moving an inch closer. Ian rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Mickey, and I bet if I look at your phone right now, you'll have all of mine, too.” Ian teased, and Mickey shut his mouth, telling Ian all he needed to know. “Just what I fucking thought. So, what do we do now?”

Mickey sighed deeply as a ticket began printing on the bench behind them, indication of a food order. Ian turned to read it and started pulling out dishes, ignoring Mickey's raised eyebrow. Clearly he learnt fast. “I'm not sure, really. Play it by ear? Who knows – maybe your phone fucked up. Is he moving out today?”

Ian was busy putting together the salad the order requested, chopping bell peppers and onions. Mickey glanced at the ticket and moved to the fridge, pulling out the cheese that was supposed to go with it. “Well,” Ian started, pausing to swear under his breath as he almost cut his finger. “He's supposed to be. He's such a fucked up asshole that if he did read the texts, he's probably sitting at my place now, just waiting for me to get home so he can fuck me around some more.”

“Jeez, calm down there, Ian.” Derek was back from his break, his douchebag levels clearly refilled as he strapped his apron back on. “What are you two lovers quarrelling about?”

Mickey was in front of him in one swift movement, not touching him like he so desperately wanted to, because this guy had been asking for a punch to the face for a long time, but standing so close he could see every inch of fucking jerk in eyes. Mickey wasn't that guy any more, though; he wasn't about to rough this guy up, as much as he wanted to. He'd settle for some good old fashioned intimidation. “Now Derek, is that any of your business?”

“Come on, dude. I'm just playing. I don't care who you're fucking.” Derek said, desperately back-peddling on the sarcasm that had oozed from him a moment earlier. 

“That's not what I'm suggesting. But whatever you think is going on between me and Ian, isn't. Okay?” Mickey said clearly, his voice low – he hardly wanted June or Nikki hearing, not that they were the type of people to spread rumours. Whatever Derek thought was going on, it was incriminating enough that if Ned knew, Mickey would be fucked, and possibly without a job. He didn't want Derek saying a thing. Mickey took a step back. “As long as we're clear on that, you can get on with prep for tomorrow. Ian and I will handle the orders for now.”

Derek nodded, fiddling with his cap before moving to the walk-in chiller and disappearing. Ian was grinning to himself as he finished up with the salad, ringing the bell to indicate the food was ready. Mickey stood next to him, eyeing up the next orders.

“Big tough guy, are you?” Ian asked quietly, aware that Derek wasn't too far away. Mickey grinned to himself, pulling dishes out of the cupboards below.

“That a problem, Gallagher?”

“Quite the opposite.”

There was no sign of Ned for the rest of the day – not that anyone was complaining. Both Ian and Mickey finished not long after lunch – the cafe itself closed at three, and it died down after one anyway. Mickey found he'd quite enjoyed working in the kitchen alongside Ian. When they could, they'd swap knowing glances or smiles; Derek kept to himself for the rest of the shift and at two, Ian and Mickey stepped out of the cafe with grins on their faces.

“Derek was so into you.”

“Really, Mick? 'So into' me? I forgot we were still in high school.” Ian mocked, earning a punch to the arm from Mickey. They set off down the road, both with the same destination. “You doing anything this weekend?”

“Not really. I haven't got Yev so Grace will usually drag me out somewhere. You?”

“Nah, man. But if Ned truly has moved out...” Ian left the statement hanging, it's implied ending evident in the air and Mickey didn't miss one second of it. They caught each other's eyes as they walked, Ian's twinkling with mischief. Mickey knew exactly what was coming, and couldn't deny that it took up 90% of his thoughts throughout the day.

“Let's wait and see what Ned actually fucking does, huh?” Mickey said, thoughts of Ned infiltrating the visions he'd started up of Ian in his head. They rounded a corner and spotted an all too familiar black car outside their building. Ian groaned as Mickey swore. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Nervously, they approached the building. There was no sign of Ned in the hallway which meant he could only be inside Ian's unit; Mickey thought for a second while Ian seemed unsure whether or not to enter. “Why am I so scared of this guy?”

“He might not realise I live here yet.” Mickey said slowly. 

“Don't leave me to deal with him!” Ian whispered in a rush; the chances were that Ned had seen them walking up the path but Mickey liked to think he had good luck once in a blue moon.

“I'm not going to. Come to mine and call him – ask him if he's moved out yet.” Ian nodded at Mickey's plan and they snuck into Mickey's unit, closing the door quietly behind them. “Do you think he saw us?”

“I fucking hope not.” Ian muttered, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialling. 

Mickey watched anxiously. “Even if he did see us, what the fuck do you owe him anyway?”

Ian didn't answer but concentrated on his phone as Ned picked up. “Ned? Hey, it's Ian. Just wondering if you're out yet.”

Mickey almost laughed at how blunt Ian asked – he turned his back to Ian and let out a small laugh, unable to help himself. When he turned back, Ian was flipping him off. It gave Mickey an idea.

“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.” Ian listened as Mickey moved towards him, payback for the moment in the chiller on Ian's first day at the cafe on his mind. Ian's eyes widened as he realised what Mickey was doing but it was too late; Mickey had lifted Ian's shirt and placed his lips on Ian's skin. Ian jumped at the touch, and it only spurred Mickey on further. He moved further down, lowering onto his knees and holding Ian's hips. “I'm off tomorrow but – but – I'd rather you just – ah-”

Ian's voice caught as Mickey's hand worked it's way inside his pants. Mickey grinned to himself then up at Ian, enjoying the torturous look on the redhead's face. “Sorry, I thought I was going to – sneeze!” Ian cried out as Mickey pulled his cock out of his jeans, stroking the full hard length of it. “Look, Ned, I have to go but I will – ah, fuck! I'll call you later.”

Ian hung up the phone and threw it on the floor beside them, his green eyes dark as he looked down at Mickey. “Problem?” Mickey asked casually, one hand still slowly moving up and down the length of Ian while his other reach up behind and palmed his ass. Ian shook his head roughly.

“Fuck, no, but I swear to god I'm going to pay you back for that. Just don't – fucking hell – don't fucking stop.” Ian gasped out, his breath coming faster now as Mickey's hand gained speed. 

In one swift movement, Mickey replaced his hand with his mouth, taking in as much as he could and using his hand to stroke the base of Ian's cock. Ian reacted immediately, his hands in Mickey's hair and his breath coming in quick gasps. Slowly, Mickey took his mouth off and used his tongue, running it up and down the length of Ian's dick, enjoying both the taste and the noises Ian was making as Mickey took his time. The intensity hitched up a notch and Ian's hips were thrusting forwards now, his cock moving in and out of Mickey's mouth; he was almost there. Mickey was rock hard himself, aching to go further, to do more with Ian. All at once, Ian came, crying out, his hand fisted in Mickey's short hair. Expectant eyes looked up at Ian; it was Mickey's turn.

–

 

Every little bit further Mickey went with Ian, it only made him more and more curious as to what Ian would be like when he finally got him into bed. It was nearing five in the afternoon when Mickey and Ian found themselves slumped on the couch together with a beer – where they often seemed to congregate – and Ian told Mickey what Ned had said on the phone.

“Ned said there was a mess up with his new place – the old tenants aren't out yet. He said just 'one more night'.” 

“Jesus fucking christ.”

“I know. So, I was thinking we could go out tonight. Maybe with Grace and Mandy? I don't want to be at home with him around.” Ian said solemnly, tipping his head back to down the last of his drink. “Jesus, my life is all kinds of ridiculous at the moment.”

“Fuck it. Let's go out and hey – maybe you'll hook up with someone and go home with them.” The grin Mickey sent Ian told the latter all he needed to know; Mickey had no intention of letting Ian go home with anyone else, and it would be the perfect excuse for Ned as to why Ian wouldn't come home that night. Ned didn't need to know that Ian would be only a few feet away from home.

–

It was the first time that Mickey had been out with Ian – he didn't really consider Grace's birthday as anything, especially considering they avoided each other for half the night before kissing and abruptly leaving the party. Mickey found that he felt a weird mix of pride and happiness being out with Ian by his side; there were a few times when guys would visibly check Ian out before catching sight of Mickey and looking away. It was clear that Ian was there with Mickey and Mickey became aware of the fact that he liked it; he liked that Ian was seemingly his.

Grace and Mandy met them later that night in a small bar in the heart of the south side. It used to be a dump and was on the verge of being shut down when a bunch of hipsters – as the owner had described them to Mickey one night – decided that the place was cool again, and it had been doing great ever since. Mickey and Ian sat in the back of the bar in a booth with a beer each, sending flirty grins across the table and making suggestive talk until the girls arrived. Grace and Mandy took one look at them before turning to each other and high-fiving. Mickey rolled his eyes.

“Fuck you both.”

“Well, Mickey, we're just happy that you two have finally sorted your shit and realised that you were made to ride off into the sunset together!” Grace said happily, ignoring Mickey's death stare. “Mandy – you owe me ten bucks, remember?”

Mandy made a disgusted noise and pulled money out of her pocket. “What do you all want to drink? Next round is on me.”

They all called out their drink orders and she shuffled off towards the bar. “I'll go help her.” Mickey said, sliding out as Grace slid in next to Ian. Mickey manoeuvred his way to the bar through the throngs of people and stood next to Mandy.

“You and Grace seem happy.” 

“We are. You and Ian seem happy.” 

“We are.”

The siblings grinned at each other for a second before Mickey decided the natural order needed to be reinstated and he punched his sister lightly on the arm. Mandy swore under her breath at him and Mickey relaxed slightly; sometimes they were too close for comfort. The bartender came over and Mandy ordered the drinks. 

“What's the deal with Ned, then?” Mandy asked as they watched the man behind the bar start on their order. She turned to him, twisting her phone in her hands as she spoke. “Has he moved out?”

“No, if you can believe that. The fucker is staying one more night.” Mickey explained, rolling his eyes as he did so. He couldn't believe their luck; if Mickey had met Ian first, they wouldn't be in this fucking position. And yet, here they were. “Ian will probably stay with me tonight, anyway.”

Mandy raised her eyebrows, wiggling them suggestively and Mickey glared at her. “Oh, come on. I'm only teasing.” The bartender came over and Mandy paid for the drinks, picking up two as Mickey did the same. When they got back to the table, Ian and Grace were laughing away happily at something and immediately stopped laughing when the Milkoviches arrived. Mickey sent a suspicious look to Grace but she shook her head. They took their drinks and as Mickey as about to take a sip, Grace stopped them all.

“Wait!” Ian jumped so that his drink sloshed out of the glass a little and they all sent Grace a glare. “Sorry, but we should do a toast.”

“To what, exactly?” Ian asked.

Grace paused and Mandy looked around the table at them all, a cheesy grin on her face. “To new beginnings?”

“Lame!” Mickey called out, mocking his sister and earning himself a slap to the head. “Jesus, Mandy. I'm fucking kidding. To new fucking beginnings!”

They all held their glasses up, clinking them together as they chorused, “To new fucking beginnings!”

Grace let out a snort halfway through taking a sip from her drink and Mickey laughed at her. “Calm down, Grace. Take a breath.”

She put her drink down in a hurry, her eyes on something on the other side of the bar as she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “No, Mickey. It's Ned. He's here.”

Mickey felt shock run through him and a quick glance at Ian showed he felt the same; together, all four of them turned and peered around the corner of their booth, spotting Ned straight away. He was standing near the doorway of the bar, his hands on his hips and a thunderous expression on his face as he stared right at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about my big bang fic that this has taken a back seat - I'm lost with where to go with it! I'm writing chapter 9 at the moment and it should be up like normal next week but just a warning that it maaaaay be late. Because I'm terrible. Please let me know what you're thinking - I love getting comments and I don't know if I'm still doing alright on this?! 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading. I love you all. [Come say hello!](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com)


	9. Step Nine: Be Aware of Your Crush Developing into Something More

Tall in his anger, Ned stood in front of their table with a face like thunder and Mickey was surprised that they didn't see steam escaping his ears. Nobody really knew what to say, and Mickey had no idea what Ned was thinking or what he even knew – it wasn't like he'd walked in on Mickey and Ian fucking, but then he'd read all of those texts and they were more than a little telling.

“Ned!” Grace said brightly, as if he wasn't standing there with a look that could kill. “What are you doing here? Do you want to join us?”

Mickey aimed a kick at Grace's shins under the table but managed to get Ian instead; Ian cried out and gave him a look, anger in his eyes and Mickey rolled his own. Great start.

“No, no I do not want to join you.” Ned said, fumbling over his words. Was he drunk? Mickey couldn't tell; he only knew he wanted to get out of there, preferably with Ian.

“Okay, well we're off.” Mickey said stupidly; they all looked at him, full drinks in hand, and he shrugged. “We're leaving soon, then.”

“How long has it been going on?” Ned asked, directing his question to Ian whose cheeks burned the same colour as his hair.

“Uh – how long has what been going on?” Ian was stalling and it was painfully obvious. Mickey had no idea where the conversation was going, only that Ned would no doubt twist whatever Ian or Mickey came up with.

“You. Cheating on me.” It was about now that Mickey started to notice that Ned was slightly falling apart; he seemed to be unravelling in front of them as he spoke. His clothes were filthy; a dark looking stain right down the front of his shirt – Mickey didn't want to know what it was – and his pants were being held up by what looked like a tie, rather than a belt. His eyes weren't focusing properly and he almost swayed on the spot. He was either drunk or high as fuck, Mickey decided.

“Ned, we aren't together any more. We never really were. You're only living with me because your wife kicked you out. Remember?” Ian spoke slowly, as if to a child. Mickey smirked to himself; maybe he was talking to a child. Ian's words only seemed to work Ned up even more.

“No, I don't remember. I remember you saying you loved being with me. What happened to that, Ian?” Ned slapped his hands down on the table, fixing Ian with a beady eye. Mickey had had enough.

“Ay, man. Back it up, okay. You need to go and take a breather or something – you're off your fucking face.” Mickey tried, he honestly tried, to say it without any trace of humour. He clearly can't have done a very good job because Ned turned his eyes to Mickey, glaring darkly at him.

“Mickey.” Ned spat as if the sound of Mickey's name in his mouth tasted disgusting. “This is nothing to do with you. Nothing.” Now Mickey wasn't so sure what was going on – had Ned read the texts?

“I don't care. You need to back the fuck up and leave us the fuck alone, okay?” Mickey cracked his knuckles – maybe a little much, but he was in a mood now – and stood his ground. He was sitting closest to Ned, and really, he was at a slight disadvantage if Ned decided to do anything. Mickey just hoped Ned wouldn't try anything.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want, Milkovich! You better watch it or you won't have a job tomorrow!”

“You can't do that!” Mandy piped up, her own eyes sending a classic Milkovich glare Ned's way.

“And who the fuck are you?” Ned demanded, blinking slowly as if he couldn't take in what he was looking at. Mandy flipped him off with a scowl on her face.

“Your worst fucking nightmare if you don't back the fuck off, old man. You can't fire me. What are you gonna do?” Mandy sat up straighter in her seat, somehow making her small frame seem twice the size. Ned only laughed and turned back to Ian.

“This is the scum you hang with?” His voice was getting louder now, attracting the attention of tables nearby and Mickey noticed the bartender was keeping an eye on them as he served a group of girls at the bar. “You're just as fucked up as they are.”

Mickey stood up – slightly awkwardly with his legs still stuck behind the table as he shuffled out – and stepped close to Ned, narrowing his eyes. “You need to get the fuck out of here.”

“Jesus christ, Mickey. Sit down. You're causing a scene.” Ian's voice surprised Mickey; he glanced back and saw Ian rolling his eyes as he also got up from the table.

“The fuck? Did you not hear what he just said?” Mickey demanded incredulously. Ned's eyes were flicking between the pair of them, waiting for someone to aim his anger at.

“Yes, I fucking heard but now everyone is looking at you like you're about to start a fucking fight.”

Mickey squared back up to Ned. “Maybe I am.”

Ned took a step back, shaking his head slowly, suddenly quiet.

“What? You're scared now after all that talk, old man?” Mickey found he was actually enjoying himself; it had been a long time since he'd even argued with someone properly. He cracked his knuckles again, relishing the sensation. It wasn't Ned that spoke next, though; it was Ian again.

“Mickey, you need to leave.”

Mickey turned to Ian, disbelief written across his face. The girls were both silent, watching the interaction – as was Ned. Mickey stared for a moment, waiting for Ian to laugh or turn to Ned, but he didn't. He only fixed Mickey with a stare and waited patiently. “Are you fucking kidding me, Ian?”

“No, I'm not fucking kidding you. Look around.” And he did; Mickey saw eyes fixed on their little corner of the bar, fixed on him. He looked down at his hands, one making a fist. What the fuck was he doing? “Go home.”

“Ay – wait -”

“I believe he asked you to leave.” It was Ned's nasally voice that got him in the end. From the moment he'd walked over to their table, it had been building inside Mickey and here it was, being let out. Shit, it had probably been building since the moment Mickey found out that Ned found Ian first. Mickey didn't even think about it – his fist was swinging up and into Ned's face before he even knew what he was doing. There was a loud smack and Ned fell backwards; Grace made a weird noise that wasn't quite a scream and Ian immediately shoved Mickey away.

“Get the fuck out of here before someone calls the cops.” He spat, turning to Ned who was struggling to sit up. Mickey glared down at them – he didn't even hit him that hard, really – and then up at the girls. Grace was giving him a look, that fucking look, that told him he'd just ruined it like she'd fucking warned him not to. Mickey turned on his heel and stormed out of the bar, ignoring the passing looks of the other people who'd been watching.

It was ridiculous, really, Mickey fumed as he walked the streets. Ned had been fucking Ian around for how long and Mickey was sick of it – he was an asshole, and Mickey wasn't even sorry for hitting him. Although, Mickey thought as he rubbed the knuckles on his right hand, he hadn't hit anyone like that in a long time and it only reminded him of his younger years. In an instant, shame crept onto his shoulders and begun to weigh him down. Ian had looked at him like he was a different person, and the person it reminded Mickey of was his dad. And he fucking hated it.

“Mickey!”

He'd barely gotten halfway down the street away from the bar before Ian's voice was calling out behind him. Mickey turned and saw Ian jogging down the middle of the road towards him. Mickey waited until Ian was closer before he spoke.

“The fuck do you want?”

Ian stopped in front of him, his cheeks slightly red from the physical exercise, and put his hands up in surrender. “Don't be mad at me.”

“What? You're fucking mad at me – you just kicked me out of that fucking bar!” Mickey sputtered out. A car approached and they both stepped onto the side walk to avoid being hit. “What the fuck is going on?”

“I'm sorry for asking you to leave. Ned wasn't going to back down and I didn't want to cause a fucking bar fight.” Ian paused, chewing his lip as he looked away and then back at Mickey. “I don't think you should have hit him, though.”

“I know I shouldn't have fucking hit him, Ian. Christ, I'm as bad as my fucking dad.”

“What? Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I'm fucking serious right now.” Mickey started walking again, slowly this time and he was pleased to see that Ian was walking alongside with him. The streets were mostly empty as they walked, the odd car driving past and lighting up the road as it did. “I haven't done anything like that in a long time.”

“Which is exactly why you're not as bad as your dad, Mick. Mandy and I were talking about him the other day – she told me some of the shit that he used to do. You are nothing like him.” Cautiously, Ian slipped his hand into Mickey's as they walked; Mickey kept his eyes forward, but he didn't move his hand. 

“Why are you always so nice to me even when I fuck up?”

“I guess I just like you, huh?” Ian said, pulling a face at Mickey. “Right. Here's the deal. Ned is back there nursing his wounds – he's seriously messed up. He's going to meet me at home so we can 'talk it out'. I have a better idea.”

–

It didn't take long for Ian and Mickey to clear out Ned's stuff; Ned had already moved half of it earlier that day before finding out that he had to stay another night with Ian – if that was even true. His stuff was either in his car or in storage somewhere, but neither Mickey or Ian cared. They carried out the last few boxes and sat them on the hood of Ned's car – he must have walked to the bar or taken the bus – and then sat outside on the front step of the building waiting for Ned to arrive. They weren't waiting long; Ned's drunken form turned the corner and started stumbling towards the house, looking like a zombie out of a horror film and mumbling to himself. When he got to the building and saw his boxes on the car, he turned to Ian and Mickey with a dumbfounded look on his face and his keys to the house dangling from his hand. His eye was already beginning to bruise.

“What's going on here?”

Ian stood up, leaving Mickey to watch with a small smile on his face. “I've decided it's time you move out for good. We're not 'together', I'm not 'cheating' on you. I'm with Mickey and that's that.”

“How dare you -”

“He's not finished.” Mickey cut in, a glare replacing his smile as he looked at Ned. Ned's face faltered as he looked at Mickey, his expression unreadable.

“You've hung around like a bad smell for too long, Ned. You need to leave. I don't want to see you any more. You can't stay here.”

“I hope you know you haven't got a job any more.” Ned spat, obviously floundering for something to hurt Ian with. Ian only grinned in return.

“Actually, I do. Mandy – the kind young lady you met earlier this evening – has arranged for me to work at the same daycare she works at. Seeing as I'm studying teaching, I figured it was a good start.”

Ned turned to Mickey now, taking a staggered step forward. “Mickey – you don't have a-”

“Actually, he does still have a job.” Ian cut in. Mickey enjoyed the look of shock on Ned's face as his eyes darted between the pair of them. “You can't fire him for this, Ned. Legally, you have no right, and if you did – well, Mickey and I would just have to make a few calls regarding missing amounts of money.”

That stopped Ned in his tracks, unable to find words. He swayed on the spot slightly, staring at Ian in disbelief. Ian moved forward and in one swift movement, he'd swiped the keys from Ned's hand and began to remove the key to the unit. Ned didn't even protest, he only stared at Ian.

“It's time for you to get the fuck out of here, old man.” Mickey stood up now, coming to stand in front of Ned next to Ian. “We took the liberty of calling you a cab but you can come and pick up your car tomorrow.”

As if on cue, a taxi pulled up to their building and all three of them turned to look at it. Ned turned back, panic setting in on his face. “But where will I go?”

“Do you think I care?” Ian demanded, a hint of anger in his voice now. “I'm not sure why it's taken me so long to say this, but fuck off, Ned.”

Mickey turned with Ian as they walked away from Ned and headed into the building. Once they were inside, Mickey led them into his unit and they peered out the front window. Ian snorted as Ned tripped up on his way out of the front gate and into the taxi; he was gone, his boxes still sitting on the hood of his car. Mickey turned with a grin to Ian and held his hand up. Ian high fived it.

“Are we in a 90's movie?” Ian asked and Mickey laughed loudly. “What do you think will happen when you go to work on Monday?”

Mickey shrugged as they turned away from the window. “No fucking idea. Hey – when did you get a job with Mandy?”

“I thought I'd told you about that. She called me about it earlier today. They have a separate room for preschool kids so I'm going to be working in there.” Ian said proudly. “It means I can stop working weekends at The Glorious Fairy.”

Mickey wrinkled his nose up. “I've never been there.”

“That doesn't surprise me.” Ian snorted and Mickey flipped him off. “Come on, you're hardly the gay bar type.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey asked, sidling up closer to Ian. “And what type am I?”

“My type.” Ian said seriously and Mickey burst out with laughter, shaking his head at Ian. “What?! The fuck are you laughing at?”

“You're so fucking corny sometimes, Gallagher.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Ay, man. I was trying to start something in here. You're the one that got all corny.” Mickey said gently, his hand coming to Ian's waist as he pulled him closer. “Do you get where I'm fucking heading now?”

They found themselves in Mickey's bed, almost naked and, if Mickey had anything to do with it, Ian would be losing his boxers within the next thirty seconds. It was still dark outside but the sun was due up in an hour or so. They'd been up all night with Ned and now they were finishing on a high note. Mickey was surprised they'd lasted this long.

Ian was on top of Mickey, their lips were connected and their hands were roaming desperately. The need was urgent, now; they'd been messing around for the last week, almost there but not quite. Now, Mickey thought as Ian's teeth pulled on his bottom lip, now Mickey wanted it more than fucking ever. And he was going to fucking get it. Mickey felt every inch of his desperate energy in the kiss, his tongue working furiously as one of Ian's hands ran down Mickey's torso, nails digging in, tugging impatiently on Mickey's boxers. Mickey responded by doing the same – his hands left Ian's neck and moved to pull on Ian's boxers. They broke apart, sly grins on their faces.

“I'll show you mine if you show -”

“If you finish that sentence, Gallagher, I'm kicking you the fuck out.” Mickey grunted with surprise as Ian crashed his lips into his own again, though it wasn't for long. Ian pulled back and took Mickey's boxers off, his own following shortly after. Mickey licked his lips anticipation; Ian's eyes followed the movement of his tongue.

Mickey laid there, his eyes wide as he watched Ian lower his lips to Mickey's chest. The heat of Ian's mouth burnt his chest, sending waves of excitement through him with each kiss to his skin. His back arched towards Ian as the kisses shifted lower down towards his abdomen. Ian paused, his eyes flicking up to Mickey's. The bed creaked as Ian rested on one elbow, his other hand stroking Mickey's erection. The latter let out a loud moan and Ian grinned.

“Fuck me, Gallagher.” Mickey let out breathlessly.

“In time, Mickey.”

Mickey groaned again, the anticipation sending him over the edge as Ian placed more kisses on his abdomen. Mickey fell backwards, his eyes screwed shut; he felt Ian's mouth suck him down and he bucked at the sensation, a loud gasp escaping his lips. Ian's tongue moved around the head of Mickey's cock and he swallowed Mickey impatiently, picking up the pace slightly as Mickey's hands tangled in Ian's hair, desperate for him to continue. When Ian pulled away, Mickey's eyes flew open and he looked up in protest.

“The fuck?” His voice was rough, thick with longing. He was uncomfortably hard now, craving more from Ian. Mickey was finally getting what he wanted and so far, it was more than he could have ever imagined it to be. Ian seemed to get him, know how to work him. Ian lowered himself down onto Mickey's cock again, using one hand to play with Mickey's balls. Mickey's hands clutched the sheet as Ian's hand moved lower and brushed over Mickey's asshole. His hips lifted up and down; he hoped liked fuck Ian knew what Mickey wanted. Fuck it. “If you wanna get in me any day now, that would be fucking fantastic.”

It seemed to be all Ian was waiting for. Mickey's hand flew out to his bedside table, pulling open the drawer and retrieving his bottle of lube, throwing it at Ian along with a condom. Ian wasted no time in lubricating his finger and shoving it into Mickey; Mickey felt as if he was on fire. One hand still knotted in the sheets, the other came up to the headboard behind him where he clutched it desperately, needing something to keep him grounded. Ian was fingering him, pausing to ease a second finger in and sending Mickey's head backwards.

“Fuck – Ian – just fucking get on me, would you?”

Those were the magic fucking words, Mickey realised, as impatient as they sounded. He felt the void as soon as Ian removed his fingers but it only sent his excitement up a notch as he watched Ian roll the condom over himself and squirt lube into his palm, sliding it over himself. Ian bit his lip and Mickey felt a pulse run through him – he was fucking gorgeous to watch. There was no fucking way Mickey was turning over; he wanted the full view. Ian spread Mickey's legs wide before pushing into Mickey slowly, generating a long moan from both of them. The tension that had been building suddenly burst as they moved together. Ian filled Mickey easily, stretching him and burying himself inside Mickey.

“Fuck.” Ian let out in a gasp, his hands reaching down to grip Mickey's hips. Their eyes connected and Mickey felt a rush within him; feelings he was unsure of flooded him but he shoved them aside as Ian started to move. A thought crossed his mind – they should have been doing this since day fucking one.

“Fucking faster. Harder.” Mickey cried out and Ian obliged almost immediately, his hips rocking forward into Mickey. The sound of them moving together filled the room, along with the steady knocking of the headboard on the wall. Ian moved slightly, his hands either side of Mickey as he braced himself to move, if at all possible, even faster. Mickey arched up, his lips eager to taste Ian again. Ian dipped his head, sucking at Mickey's lips and no doubt bruising them; Mickey was enjoying the bittersweet pain of it, his hands now raking down Ian's back and groping his ass. Ian moaned into his mouth and it almost sent Mickey over the edge.

“Jesus – fuck -” Mickey's voice only seemed to spur Ian on further; he slammed into Mickey at an impressive pace, both of them crying out. Ian lifted one hand and brought it between them, holding onto Mickey's cock and pumping it firmly. Mickey lost it at that point – his hands clenched Ian's back as he came hard, arching up into Ian and sending him over the edge as he came, too. Ian slid off Mickey, collapsing next to him on the bed as they lay there panting, sweating and exhausted.

This was Mickey's first – and hopefully only – crush, and so far it was fucking amazing.

By the time they'd finished – more than once – the sun was coming up. They'd showered together around six am but had somehow found their way back to bed after that. Mickey had drifted in and out of sleep, but every time he woke up, Ian was there. Tangled in his legs, his arm draped across his chest, his breath soft and warm on his skin. Mickey woke up around midday, rubbing his eyes before moving closer to Ian. It was a new experience, spending the morning with someone after they'd fucked; Mickey found that he loved it. Ian stirred, his hand tightening around Mickey's torso and his legs stretching out at the end of the bed. Mickey watched as Ian slowly opened his eyes, finding his bearings before catching Mickey staring at him.

“How long have you been watching? You some kind of creep?” Ian asked, letting out a little laugh and rubbing his eyes. Mickey was quiet, not answering right away, and Ian looked up in a panic. “I'm only kidding, Mick.”

“This is the first time I've properly spent the night with someone.”

Mickey's revelation rendered Ian speechless for a moment, his gaze softening and Mickey thought he might break at the tender expression Ian was pulling. He cleared his throat roughly, attempting to get out of the awkward situation but Ian held his face in his hands. Mickey prepared himself for something deep, some philosophical moment or confession of love, but Ian simply said, “Well, it certainly won't be the last.”

And that was enough, really. Mickey closed his eyes as Ian placed a kiss on his forehead and they drifted back into sleep. He'd never felt this content with anyone – fuck, he'd never wanted to feel like this before. Mickey had never wanted this closeness before – he'd always laughed it off because he didn't fucking do that girly shit. Now, though. He could stay here forever. Mickey listened as Ian fell asleep first, his breaths slowly deepening and the weight of his limbs on Mickey slowly getting heavier. Mickey knew his feelings for Ian went deeper than he knew they could – he wasn't sure he would label it love, but he wasn't sure that he wouldn't label it love, either. Mickey only knew that he didn't want to move from this spot. Not for anything.

Their Sunday was spent together, in and out of bed. They'd created a bubble around themselves and it wasn't until they were being woken up by Mickey's alarm on Monday morning that the real world came slamming back into them.

“Shit.” Mickey sat up in bed, Ian rolling away from him, not quite awake yet. Mickey silenced his alarm and flicked through Facebook on his phone, delaying the inevitable when he would have to get ready for work. Sighing to himself, he begun the intentionally slow process of showering.

“Mickey? Do you want coffee?” Ian's voice came through the bathroom door and Mickey smiled to himself.

“Yeah!” He called back, rinsing the shampoo from his hair and shutting the shower off. When he was dried and dressed, he stepped out of the bathroom and went through to the kitchen. Ian had set out coffee on the table, the smell of it filling the tiny kitchen and making Mickey smile. “Look at you being domestic.”

“Hey, I grew up with three younger siblings and two older siblings – I've been domestic my whole fucking life.” Ian joked as they sat at the table together. Mickey sighed and Ian looked up at him. “Nervous?”

“Nervous is one way to fucking describe it, yeah. I just don't know what to expect, you know?” Mickey took a sip of his drink, enjoying the heat of it. “Fuck, part of me doesn't even want to go in.”

“Call in sick?”

“Aren't you working today?” Mickey asked, ignoring Ian's question. He'd love to ditch work and stay with Ian all day, but he was no doubt in enough shit with Ned as it was. 

“I don't start until next week so I have a week off – lucky me.”

Mickey glanced at his watch and stood up with a start. “Shit. I should go. Wish me luck?”

Ian stood up and backed Mickey up until he was stuck against the wall. Ian smirked at Mickey's expression, dipping his head and swiping his lips across Mickey's. “Good luck.”

“You're an asshole.”

–

Mickey's walk to work had never been so quick. It seemed as if as soon as he'd stepped outside his front door, he was arriving at the cafe. It was busy this morning – Monday mornings usually were – and he stepped inside cautiously. June was serving customers, her warm smile ever present on her face. Grace pulled a face at him before ducking her head and getting on with the coffee she was making – Mickey couldn't see Ned anywhere, not even in his office. He sent a quick text to Ian before sticking his phone in his locker and putting his apron on. Mae was waiting for him in the kitchen, a stack of papers in her hands.

“Morning, Mae.” Mickey called out, still wary. He'd expected to be fired, if he was totally honest, even though legally Ned couldn't fire him. Mickey wouldn't put it past Ned to find a way around that.

“Mickey, hey. I have a few things to do today – do you think you could run the kitchen on your own?” Mickey stared, mouth open slightly, as Mae spoke. “Don't look so terrified. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you could do it.”

“Are you sure?” Mickey managed to get out, shaking his head and stepping further into the kitchen, pulling out a chopping board and doing a mental check-list of the vegetables he needed for the day's prep.

“Don't worry about that – I had Derek do all the prep yesterday. You just focus on any orders that come in. You think you'll be okay?” Mae watched him carefully, a half smile on her face at his slightly bewildered expression. “Relax, Mickey. You'll be great.”

Mae left quickly, leaving Mickey to panic just a little bit in her wake. The ticket machine made a sound and Mickey felt a rise of panic – it was an order for toast. Easy. He was done in a few minutes and took a deep breath. He could fucking do this.

“Hey, chef.” It was Grace and the grin on her face meant she knew nothing of what had ended up going down with Ned. Mickey filled her in quickly, not sure when the next order would come in or if Ned was waiting to pounce. “Wait, you and Ian made up after Saturday night?”

“Really? You don't wanna ask about the whole Ned drama?” Mickey shrugged. “It was a nothing fight. Of course we made up.”

Grace's eyebrows had a mind of their own, wiggling about on her face as she smirked at him. “And how did you make up, Mr. Milkovich?”

Mickey flipped her off, picking up a stray cloth and beginning to wipe down one of the counters. “I don't think that's shit all to do with you.”

“Yeah, you fucked. What was he like?” Grace opened the fridge and found a bowl full of strawberries, helping herself to a handful. “Did you collapse in his arms and confess your love for him? Did you burst into song and suddenly know a perfectly choreographed dance? Did your -”

“Mickey, can I speak to you please?”

Ned's cold voice cut through Grace's teasing. He was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his face an odd mixture of his use pale complexion along with purple and blue shading around his left eye. Grace immediately put the bowl of fruit back in the fridge and left the kitchen, turning around as she passed Ned to pull a face behind his back but Mickey was in no way ready to laugh. He had no idea what was coming and as he didn't want to find out. Suddenly calling in sick seemed like a much better option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wild chapter appears! Idk. I always hated that meme. I finished this and decided to upload it now - the last chapter will be uploaded next weekend. Thank you all for your comments on the last one - I really appreciate them! I think I've figured out for sure how I'll end this now, and I'm excited to write it.
> 
> I love you all!
> 
> Also..I cringe when writing sex/smut. Please tell me if it was okay?


	10. Step Ten: Happily Ever After?

“Now, Mickey,” Ned began, sitting down at the horribly messy desk in his office, leaving Mickey to stand awkwardly in the doorway. “I'm sure you know what this is about.”

“I have an idea.” Mickey bit out; he was in two minds. Part of him wanted to play nice but the other half wasn't so willing.

“Your behaviour on Saturday night at the work party was despicable.”

“Wait – hold the fuck up. Work party? What the fuck?” Mickey stared in disbelief as a sly smile spread across Ned's face. The fuck was he up to?

“Yes. Grace was there, Ian, too. It's a shame no one else could make it but you know, it was last minute. Either way, physically assaulting an employee at a work event – your manager, no less – is an offence punishable by termination. I haven't yet decided if I'm going to press charges.” Ned paused, his dumb fucking smile still sitting on his face, as Mickey processed what he was saying. It all fell into place.

“You're passing it off as a work function so you can fire me, aren't you?”

“Oh, you do have brains!” Mickey bit the inside of his cheek; there wasn't much stopping him from hitting Ned again, aside from the fact that he didn't want to be arrested and Ned clearly knew that. From where Mickey was standing, Ned held all the cards and there was nothing Mickey could do about it. “Regardless, you no longer have a job. Today will be your last day and after that I never want to see you in my café ever again. Shall I take the liberty of calling you a cab?”

Mickey's words from the night before were coming back to bite him in the ass. He made to leave the office, his fists clenched at his sides, when he stopped, determined to have the last word. “You wanna know why you're a giant sack of shit?”

“Please, do enlighten me as to why I'm a giant sack of shit, Mickey.” Ned's voice was dripping in sarcasm, a smirk permanently plastered on his bruised face. Mickey wanted to cover his fucking face in bruises.

“Several reasons, but I think the one that sticks out the most is that you're fucking pathetic. You hook up with young guys that are half your fucking age and when they wake the fuck up and realise what kind of asshole you really are, they fuck off. And you can't handle that, can you? Nobody fucking likes you. Not Mae, not Grace – fucking no one.” Mickey spat out, injecting as much venom into his words as he could. Ned's face was hard, not showing any emotion, but Mickey knew he was getting to him. “You can't handle that you're not anything to them. So you own a fucking cafe – no one gives a shit, Ned. You're just some geriatric viagroid who will only be able to get it up for a little bit longer before you lose that ability due to age – you should have stayed with your fucking wife.”

Ned stood up, his own fist clenched now but Mickey was too quick for him. He'd backed out of the office and into the small hallway that connected the kitchen and the front of the cafe. Ned wouldn't dare do anything in view of customers or other staff members. Mickey flipped him off, not giving a fuck about customers, and went back to the kitchen. He was silently fuming, his face burning red as he pulled a pot out of the cupboard and threw it in the sink. Mickey started washing it purely for something to do – it was already clean. He spent the morning banging things about. The only thing he took care with was orders – no one could say he wasn't good at his fucking job.

A little before midday, Mickey took his break. He collected his phone and pulled out a sandwich he'd made himself earlier. The sun wasn't out today; it hid behind grey clouds that were threatening to pour down on them all. Mickey hoped like fuck that it would – it was humid otherwise and he hated it. Mickey thumped down on the chair that lived outside, running his free hand over his face. Fucking asshole. He dialled Ian's number and when he picked up, Mickey explained what Ned had done.

“Fucking prick!”

“Exactly what I thought.” Mickey said bitterly. He looked at his sandwich before tossing it on the ground next to his feet – he wasn't hungry. He was too angry. “I don't know what to fucking do.”

“He can't do that, Mickey!” Ian protested, his shock coming through the phone. “There must be a way to stop him.”

“I really don't think there is.” Mickey's voice was resigned, fed up. Other job options filtered in through his head, different places he could try and work. It didn't change the fact that he liked his job here - aside from his asshole boss – and had come so far since starting here. It was fucking unfair that Ned was pushing him out this way. Grace came out the door behind him and put her hand up in a small wave. “Ian, I gotta go. I'll talk to you later.”

Grace waited for him to hang up before she sat down on the concrete next to him, glancing up at the sky as she did. “It's going to fucking rain.”

“I wish it would.”

“I heard what happened.” Mickey raised an eyebrow at her and she went on. “Ned informed me that my behaviour at the work night out was 'detestable' and that I would receive a warning. If I don't 'buck up' my attitude, I'll be out the door with you. I can't believe he's fucking you over like this Mick.”

“You're fucking telling me.” Mickey replied, resting his head in his hands. 

“You know what? We should all fucking leave – all of us. I probably won't be able to convince anyone else but I don't wanna work here without you, Mickey.” Grace was shaking her head as she spoke, her eyes downcast. 

“Don't be fucking dumb. There's always people looking for jobs – you'd hardly be putting him out. He'd find someone to replace you in no time.” Mickey pointed out and Grace deflated slightly. She opened her mouth to speak when the door opened and June popped her head out.

“Grace, Mickey? I think you should come inside.” June wasn't smiling, though, and Mickey immediately knew something was up. They both stood up and followed her back through the kitchen and out into the cafe. Mickey's eyes widened at what he saw.

At least a dozen uniformed cops were in the cafe, ushering customers out as quickly as they could. They were all craning their necks as they left and Mickey followed to what they were looking at. Ned was standing behind the counter, talking – shouting – with a man in a suit. Mickey and Grace stood with June to the side as Ned raised his voice even louder.

“This is ridiculous! I have done nothing wrong!” Ned was sputtering out, full of righteous indignation. He turned and spotted Mickey, his face reddening and contorting with rage. “You!”

Ned stormed towards him in a rush of fury, his hands out and a strangled cry escaping his lips. Mickey backed up as Grace and June stepped away from him, desperate not to be involved. The cops were on him before he made it anywhere near Mickey, though, and put handcuffs on him immediately. The man in the suit walked up to where Ned was standing a few feet in front of Mickey, holding a piece of paper in his hands.

“Lloyd Lishman, I hold in my hands a warrant that gives me and my team the legal right to seize and search any computer on the premises. It also gives us the legal right to search any paper work or documents pertaining to the running of your business, The Crafty Dog. Any material we find will be in our possession while we search it and if we find nothing of importance, it will be released back to you. As of this time, you are under arrest for suspicion of embezzlement -”

“I didn't fucking do anything!” Ned raged, drops of spit forming at the corner of his mouth; Mickey had never seen an uglier sight. “You can't do this to me!”

The officer was now reading Ned his rights as two others dragged him awkwardly out of the cafe with him protesting the entire way. The man who wore the suit came up to them, a serious look on his face. They stared back, unsure what would happen next, and waited for him to talk.

“I think it's safe to say the cafe is closed for the time being.” He started, looking at the three of them with tired eyes. “We already have sufficient evidence and this search is purely to set in stone what we already know. That being said, the cafe will no longer be open to the public and this effectively means you lose your jobs.”

“What the fuck?” It was June who spoke, ever so softly under her breath. Mickey and Grace snorted in unison, sharing a look. 

“So what do we do now?” Mickey demanded, his face straightening out again. “Look for another job?”

“I would say that is your best course of action, yes.” The man said, nodding slowly. “The cafe itself will eventually be sold off and there is always the option that it will re-open under new management and a new name; you may be able to get your jobs back then, but this is all just speculation at this point.”

“Shit.” Grace swore, untying the apron that sat around her waist and throwing it towards the counter. “Don't need to wear that shit any more, then.”

“You will all be requested to give statements at separate times – if you could give your details to my partner here.” He gestured to a woman they hadn't seen earlier; she was talking to a uniformed officer. “She'll contact you with a time to give a statement.”

“What about the others who work here?” Mickey asked.

“We'll get their details from the payroll system. If there's anything you think is urgent or you have any questions, please contact me on this number.” He handed over a card to Mickey. “If there's nothing else, I need to follow Mr. Lishman back to the station.”

He turned and walked out, while his partner came to collect their details. When she'd recorded them all down in her notebook, she left to follow her partner. June turned to them, an odd smile on her face.

“Well, I was planning on retiring soon, anyway!” She laughed breathlessly, one hand on her chest and wide smile on her face. “I think I'll pick my grandchildren up from school today.”

Grace and Mickey waved as she left, together walking over to a table in the window as the cops moved in and out of the building, carrying boxes of papers and Ned's computer. Mickey couldn't believe it had all happened within the space of thirty minutes. Hadn't he just been eating his fucking lunch?

“Well, now we've all lost our jobs, not just you.” Grace spoke, her eyes following each officer move in and out before she looked down at the table, her face weary. “Fucking great.”

“I can't believe he got arrested.”

“Believe it.” They looked up to see Mae standing in front of their table, a smile on her face. “I can't believe they sent so many cops – I only embellished a little and told them he was hard to handle.”

Mickey let out a bark of laughter, realisation setting in as to where Mae had gone that morning. “You did all of this?”

“Well, not all of it.” Mae said, sitting down at the table with them. “But I guess, yeah, most of it.”

“You fucking superstar.” Grace laughed. “But that means you're without a job, just like us.”

“Not for long!” Mae said, winking at Grace. “My brother in law is a lawyer and he's explained to me how this all works. The building will be sold off to help pay the fines that Ned will no doubt incur – it won't be a big auction like regular property auctions. I've made an offer before it even goes to auction, though, and I have a feeling they're going to accept it.”

Mickey stared at his co-worker, unable to believe all that she was saying. “So you're going to own this place?”

“In a matter of weeks.” She nodded, her smile even wider now. “And I'll be looking for a head barista and a head chef. Know of anyone looking?”

–

Three months later, it had all seemed to have worked out perfectly. Ned was still tied up in legal drama but the head officer was gunning for a full sentence; the building had been sold off two months into the investigation and they'd willingly accepted Mae's early offer. She'd re-branded the entire cafe and hired both Mickey and Grace. Mae had saved the day, in every sense of the word.

Opening day dawned and Mickey rolled over in bed, wrinkling his eyes and stretching his hands out, finding exactly what he wanted.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Mickey opened one eye to see Ian smiling at him.

“How long have you been awake?” Mickey's voice came out croaky and Ian snorted at him.

“Long enough to know you talk in your sleep.” Ian teased, laughing at the look on Mickey's face. “Now get up and cook me fucking breakfast before your big day at work, chef!”

Ian sent Mickey out the door with a kiss and a promise of 'head chef sex' when he got home. Mickey had no idea what the fuck he was on about but he was definitely curious to find out. The door shut behind him and he walked straight into the back of a tall man, a heavy box in his hands.

“Shit – sorry!” The man turned, his face full with a smile. “I'm Winston. My sister is moving in today.” 

Mickey nodded, peering behind Winston into the empty unit where Ian had lived; the decision to move in together had been easy. They lived feet apart, why not close the gap? Over the three months since Ned had been taken away in handcuffs, Ian and Mickey had grown even closer. Mickey didn't want to label it – more like he was fucking shit scared to label it – but he fucking loved spending time with Ian.

“Nice to meet you. I'm Mickey – my partner, Ian, lives here too. Welcome to the building.” Mickey's voice didn't shake when he said partner, didn't stammer, not fucking once. He smiled warmly, as warm as a Milkovich smile got, anyway, and walked out of the building. Winter was on it's way and each day was colder than the last, but today the sun had decided to shine. Mickey felt like he was on fucking cloud nine.

The new sign above the cafe shone brightly with the words Black Pepper emblazoned on it. Mickey stepped past the crowd of people already waiting outside and used his key to get in. Mae had completely overhauled the entire cafe; it was like something from a makeover show Mickey used to watch on TV in his unemployed days. Mae bustled over towards him, not looking even a little bit stressed and smiled at him.

“Morning! Are you excited? Your first day as chef?”

“Excited, maybe. Nervous, definitely.” Mickey said, meaning every word. “Where did all those people come from?”

“I had my kids put flyers everywhere – it's going to be a busy day!” Mae walked off again, going through the cafe and checking everything looked perfect. Mickey went through to the kitchen and looked around. This was his kitchen. His own fucking kitchen and as much as he was nervous, he couldn't believe that this was where he was standing.

At the end of the busiest day of Mickey's life, he sat with Grace in the empty cafe while Mae finished up in the office. Things couldn't have gone better and Mickey had a good feeling about it – he didn't fuck up, for one. They'd had a steady stream of customers throughout the day and even a local reporter who wrote a weekly food column had come in to visit. She'd asked Grace to speak to the chef and Mickey had looked around before realising that he was the chef.

“Right, everyone.” Mae came marching over. “You all did fantastic today! Thank you so much for making this so easy. If today was anything to go by, we're going to do really well here.”

“Hey – this is all down to you, Mae! Well done.” Grace said warmly and Mickey nodded alongside her.

Mae gestured her head towards the window and they turned to look out. Ian was standing outside, a smile on his face as he waved at them all. “Go. You did great today, Mickey. See you tomorrow.”

Mickey grinned widely, pleased with himself and how well the day had gone. He said goodbye to the girls and stepped out into the cool air – the sun was on it's way down and it showed in the temperature. Mickey walked over to where Ian was waiting. “What are you doing here?”

“I finished early and thought I'd come and walk you home.”

“Thank fuck, because I am fucking lost without you.” Mickey said bluntly and Ian punched him lightly in the arm. They fell into step alongside each other and started in the direction of home.

“So, how was opening day?”

“It was great! Really great. Mae did really well.” Mickey told Ian, his voice brighter than it had ever been. When Ian didn't say anything, Mickey turned and found him staring at Mickey. “The fuck?”

Ian laughed, squeezing Mickey's hand before he looked ahead again. “You look happy, Mick.”

Mickey thought about it for a moment; his life had somehow fallen into place. He had a good job that now paid more, he had Yev, and for all that he'd been worried about, his crush had worked out perfectly. It wasn't like a Milkovich to smile as much as he had over the last few months but he wouldn't change it. Mickey squeezed Ian's hand back as they walked. “I am happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We made it to the end! Not like it was a particularly long journey, but here we are. Thanks to everyone who read this - I really, truly appreciate you all! Comments and kudos mean a lot. I apologise that the ending is a little short - I just wanted to wrap it up. Maybe minus 10 points for the corny ending?!
> 
> I'll write the odd one shot over the next few months but I'll mostly be working on my Big Bang, which you should all either join as a writer or artist! [Come and say hello on tumblr,](http://www.thegameismoriarty.tumblr.com) though, because I love new friends! Was that corny? It was corny.
> 
> Thank you!!


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